He fell in love with an angel. Her hair was like the blackest night and her skin as warm as the rain forest. She was fiery like the Sahara and learned not the meaning of patience.

He always cared for his mother, and worked hard to please his father. His siblings found no fault in his character. He was strong and he was kind and he was Stephen John Graham.

Always admired by his friends for his compassion and his just wisdom. Never once had he doubted their loyalty. Not one bad word of him ever relieved them.

He was blessed with fortune and with fame. He gave to the needy. He gave to the poor. He got no thank-you, but even so he did not grieve. His honor was to always be generous.

Then one day out of so many, he lost his love to the sea. So caught in a storm she was, she could not write “I love thee”. Oh dear, was it his fair Annabel Lee?

Once more did he grieve that day. His family far away had come only to give their respects when a shot rang tall and killed them all.

He found his closest friend doing deeds with the devil. Anger and that nasty feeling of betrayal fell upon him. Pleasure in his work he would and find life tomorrow.

But Loki was to be his constant companion. His outcome exceeded his income. His work wanted him no more.

The Streets swallowed him whole and gave him a more fitting name. Soapy he was called now. For even as a man with many a blight he continued to be white.

His one fault was this: pride. Pride of who he was and of who he would become until a cop came and stole him away.