As You Are Woman, So Be Lovely:

Originally Marriage Meant The Sale Of A Woman By One Man To Another; Now Most Women Sell Themselves Though They Have No Intention Of Delivering The Goods Listed In The Bill Of Sale.

We Forget Cruelty And Past Betrayal, Heedless Of Where The Next Bright Bolt May Fall.

So When I'm Killed, Don't Wait For Me, Walking The Dim Corridor; In Heaven Or Hell, Don't Wait For Me, Or You Must Wait For Evermore. You'll Find Me Buried, Living-dead In These Verses That You've Read.

Strawberries That In Gardens Grow Are Plump And Juicy Fine, But Sweeter Far As Wise Men Know Spring From The Woodland Vine. No Need For Bowl Or Silver Spoon, Sugar Or Spice Or Cream, Has The Wild Berry Plucked In June Beside The Trickling Stream. One Such To Melt At The Tongue's Root, Confounding Taste With Scent, Beats A Full Peck Of Garden Fruit: Which Points My Argument.

There's A Cool Web Of Language Winds Us In, Retreat From Too Much Joy Or Too Much Fear: We Grow Sea-green At Last And Coldly Die In Brininess And Volubility.