We ladies sense it is the cuckoo builds no nest;
To float the flower on the pond and hide the stem,
That’s to be as we are. God gives us recompense.
Within the nursery one may smack and kiss
As among giggling nuns. The business is,
Secure the man when young and then repent
Amid his willows and his streams. Sweet lioness,
The sorcerer says in ugly dreams you have
No bloodless sorrow. Whose bones attest to this?
We ache, we grow fat, we are oppressed.
Metamorphosis deceives our innocence.
Morning after morning slips
The spider with her web across our lips.