A woman’s life is tragic
A woman’s life to be
Fears, lust, dreams of the magic-
al kind
At once trust yields deceit,
A shattered heart
A sallow mind
A troubled start
What more than love to hate?
Love can only transpire as despair
And when fallen into depths of ghastly fate, who but capable of repair?
A woman
Yes, a woman, that’s who

Years of wait,
Loss and error,
Then Finally!
A prince, and finally an heir
But, oh, marriage is callous and later sour
And a woman needs proper care
Hope to devour

Women,
Well, some
Settle and find a home,
Security, contentment,
children to pass time
But never enough
To complete the rhyme
Of a song written
Of urges of passion, the will to be free
Music of joy, notes of glee

With years, eyes wan and somber,
Heart solemn and hollow,
Hands cold and stiff,
Then, the menacing“What if…?”
Yields doubtless cries, pity and sorrow

Yet what more can a woman do but endure?
A “she” was born to dream and much more
Yet they scream in voices of silence and unconcern
Walk quietly they do without a beat
They shuffle and drag and stifle, retreat
And one wonders, where have gone their feet?
Their voice, their trill, their beauty all vanished
For if otherwise, they are sent away, forever blemished
A woman’s life is tragic
Away her bosom carried, plunged like a pelagic

A desperate creature born to be a she,
A soulless dreamer a woman out to be
But, alas, I say with a sigh, though melancholy
A woman’s life is for all, but not one for me