How True is a Woman

by Gwendolyn Armstrong

How true is a woman,

If she is not flooded in pain,

Writhing under the grips of life

Drowning, forced to tread,

With head above water,

Until her final breath will sink her to the sea?

How true is a woman,

If not shrouded in shame,

A flightless bird,

With dreams of nothing but the sky,

She longs to fly,

Yet her wings have been clipped since birth.

How true is a woman,

If she is not beauty divine,

Her lips the shade of roses,

never meant to bloom,

The irresistible vision 

Of an overgrown child.

How true is a woman,

If she is not a mother,

To bear the weight of children,

Without bend or break,

To love and forgive as it is nature,

To birth a new generation of fools.