Unfed, unsheltered, neglected.
By master's side, come fire or boil,
Though heaven itself be rejected.
The hope of men would give up its belly,
And its heart to its master's affection,
Though the cupboard be bare and the wardrobe be smelly,
With no sign of shelter in any direction.
But the aspiration of women is a voracious critter
That eats its own kin to survive,
Unsated by all that's sweet, salty or bitter,
It digests its prey while alive.
That men and women are like xylem and phloem,
With differences high, wide and deep,
Can never be doubted by any who know them
And take note of the diverse ambitions they keep.
HOPE, n. What a man discovers on every plate and a woman hides in both sleeves.
Yeah, yeah, Mireille. I know.