It is simply a tragedy
that so many men —
how I know them! —
go to waste in the toil
of the day, labored.
Were it not for sweet
kisses these men came
home to, dainty arms
to hold their bodies,
there would be no rest
for the labored and beguiled.
When I call upon each
for a wife, they do not know
the touch of a man.
(How can they fear desire,
experience, and trust?)
A man of industry
is like a man of words
in their preoccupation
with time.
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