Woman, dear feeble, quiet, honest and blessed woman,
The mind is wrought with the plight of her,
She is labored and weighed down from within,
But does she cry, NO! She becomes stronger.
She toils, she feeds, she bleeds, she weeps,
Yet she mourns, she groans, she whines and she clamps,
She is deity, she is nymph, she is Delilah, she is gift,
She but bears the weight of the bereaved.
At the morn, she is at the coal, at the noon she is at the field,
At the eve, she is at the dishes, at the night she is at the slander,
At the twilight she is at his bequest, waiting for a night of rest,
This woman weary and angry so, calms her nerves and blesses us all.
She is at her knees praying for the man, she is on the phone asking for his toll,
She is at the yard holding his sole, she is at His throne defending his soul,
She is on the bed wailing in pain, she is beside herself with tears of babies bawling.
At her desk she worries for him, on the move she is weary of him,
At his request she is quiet within, at her time she is broken down within,
By her side the world kept warning, in her heart she heard is calling,
In this era there is no knowing, if she will live or die a-walking
Her heart is open knowing no folly, her mind is up shielding all stories,
She bares the scars, the seen and the hidden,
She holds her sides and watch the mockingbird sail lowly,
She lays awake in the midst of all sleeping,
She is awash with shame at no tender blessing.
She stays submissive with a smile alluding to nothing cruel but all amusing,
This is the theme of all that comes from man and groin in passion astounding,
She tends her sores without begrudging, that the man she loves is all but caring,
There is reason for that which is taunting.
This is the tale of the woman and her heart in waiting,
This is the canvas by which we have being designed,
This is our lot in things dark and fair, this is our stance for all that is unclear,
For herself she knows no glory, for her man she upholds his glory.
credendo vides “by believing one sees”