A Poetic Definition For Valentine's Day: Woman - by Two Hopeless Romantics

There is no better time in the year for the adoration of women than Valentine's Day.  I was brought up to respect women and to show them courtesy and respect.  I was also brought up to see the beauty inside of everyone; a difficult task in my life, and one I grudgingly attempt even if I know, in my heart, that a particular woman is pure evil.   Hey, a little evil in a woman can sometimes be fun, leather not withstanding.

So, I take this post to offer a small tribute to women.  A bit of poetry and a bit of lust.  I think if Adam was first to arrive in the garden, it was only to fertilize the mother of all mankind and to protect her from harm.  I guess Adam screwed that up.

Perfect Woman

She was a phantom of delight

When first she gleam'd upon my sight;

A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;

Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;

But all things else about her drawn

From May-time and the cheerful dawn;

A dancing shape, an image gay,

To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,

A spirit, yet a Woman too!

Her household motions light and free,

And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet

Sweet records promises as sweet;

A creature not to bright or good

For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;

A being breathing thoughtful breath,

A traveller between life and death;

The reason firm, the temperate will,

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

A perfect woman, nobly plann'd,

To warn, to comfort, and command;

And yet a Spirit still, and bright

With something of angelic light.

-- William Wordsworth

A Woman

She is something to be handled with a modicum of care, 
Then be returned to the pedestal from which taken.
A China doll with fragile porcelain features;
With  sparkling eyes that drive men to their knees in supplication.

She is dawn and sunset of a summer's day;
Dew on clover and scent of a morning rose.
Her's is the warmth of an evening fire
And a cup of steaming spiced cider.

Her presence is quiet modesty upon arrival
Turning many a man's head
At great cost to marriage and pocketbook.
She is a subtle hurricane to emotion.

If man was created in God's image,
Surly God improved with practice,
As man cannot hold a candle
To the beauty that is Eve.

This is woman.

-- Yours Truly

(Ol' Bill Wordsworth can't compete with this kid!)