Dear Huldah

My dear lotus, the prophet spoke, a prairie dark, a privy
Hope. But depth the mind, a dual view, a vivid vice, a seed
Askew. My heart aflame, a Bishop born, the bract of faith, 
Elijah’s horn. And Amos light, Isaiah’s friend, a spirit bond,
An ivy glen. And vision sore, a nectar sweet, a martyr lives,
A soul discreet. For mortal death, a spirit flame, a fluid
Flare, a psyche slain. And Micah two, a solemn pledge, a
Phantom web, a vulture dead.

My dearest heart, the prophet spoke, a prairie dark, a privy
Hope. But evil root, a godly host, the pulse of light, a
Cryptic ghost. And only Job, a phantom faith, the plight of God,
A pregnant fate. And darkest flame, a friction fair, a wisdom
Pain, a privy prayer. And Micah two, a solemn pledge, a
Phantom web, a vulture dead.

Privy: a secret knowledge possessed by only a selected, and/or, chosen group of people.
Bract: a modified leaf; petal.
Martyr: Christ; those that have died for their faith in Christ, refusing to denounce such faith in the face of imminent death. But in this instance, I am speaking of the spirit of a martyr.