A woman is like a moon;
A part of her is always hidden.
She speaks; she creates
Beam of thoughts gleams unbidden.
She comes and goes
Sometimes too lazy to show.
Through every dark and rainy mood.
Beauty or glory or love and death ever raised
In her, a deep-felt gratitude.
She is a star of tenderness and passion.
Saw sighs reek from you, noted well your compassion.
When the stars and moon have to
go and the sun has yet to come.
Men may rood and cry,
admired by all, beloved but to only one.
