Freestyle Draft

I sing to thee,
though thou does flee:
from me, beneath the apple tree,
To the far East, up to sky's great heights,
In candlelit rooms, in solemn,
Sabbath nights
I sing to thee, and though Earth is great,
you flee from me, to God's good grace.
I sit awhile, I pace, I pace,
but you come not, and so I chase,
through Egypt we go,
through Babylonian fires
and dreaded funeral pyres
through night all aglow
and although my body lusts for you,
my mind expands as I pursue a Jew.
and as it does, the distance between us shrinks.
shown a new angle
Kinks of knowledge untangle,
and so I find reason in your flee,
loving you connects me with (world's) history.