And all ye who come and stay,
The muse that parts at bay,
This lint of cloth away
Could never pour my heart away,
In an ocean of tears I obey,
This lasting word I come to say:
Woman. The start and end of strife.
In whom I trust ye more than life,
This change brought is bittersweet,
For even honey can never be sweet.
My dear, who could never be fooled,
This night I give more than tooled,
And accept my state no man can see;
Round them I am but not just me,
The art of this magic I then bestow
Shall give you more than dainty glow.
Must I recite the verse that make me man?
Must I relinquish all that make me man?
For I am neither man nor woman before you,
And I hope you feel the same way too,
Nor shall you grow from hate to this,
Would I not seek my life through this,
That I shall succumb to you and sleep,
Then you shall awaken me with greater weep.

Category:
Poetry, Romance, Works
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