What is a Woman

Now there’s a question that has been asked before, I feel.
-Paintings painted,
-Sonnets sung,
Books written, to tell her how she should or shouldn’t feel,
-Act,
-React.
To wise her up on her make-up, hairstyle and skin.
-How she should dress,
Go out to impress that man of hers.
-Is she too fat?
-Maybe too tall.
Breasts not looking just right!

Does she need a new car?
Maybe a bra, to be adored by he?
Seduce or reduce is the question, no mean feat by far but
Somewhere out there the answer will be, inexpensive.
Buy one and the other three are half price.
Half of what?
Half of a little is good, half of a lot is still a lot!
But the brand it’s hot….

The paintings and sonnets sung are to her honour, dignity,
-Modesty and propriety.
-Raising her in adulation.
Speculation.
What is a woman, now there’s the question; poets will tell
Of slender waist.
Golden hair, skin yet so fair.
Will they tell, of her hotchpotch of emotions?
Dreams,
The need to love and be loved for herself.
Her own reality.

A woman is and more besides all the writings of famous bard.
All the paintings on the wall could not do her justice, she is.
-She is all things to all people.
She is hope.
She is a foundation.
She is mother of creation, friend to the friendless.
Most of all she is a living breathing human being.
-With doubts.
-Fears, often shed tears.
The one that cares for him, her, they.

-Adviser, cleaner.
-Friend and lover.
-Daughter, sister, and a mother.
Confidant, comforter and nurse, one that has an open purse.
-Still she is;
Man, woman and child rolled into one.
Won’t finish till the day is done.
The miracle of a woman is, she is;
-And always will be…