Borne

The men went through the fields and gardens, Ripping the weeping petals off of flowers Which had not yet blossomed, Claiming their beauty was not right. The men shouted until their voices grew tight and ragged, Pulling wild horses by their manes to the stables, Angry that they ran and bucked. The men sharpened their swords, And scored one another with gashes and scars, Each to triumph in the skill of his violence. The men did all this while the women sat quietly, Sowing seeds and feeding horses and cleaning blood away, And then the men came into their houses, With their daughters and mothers and wives, And cried and cried and cried that they Never knew love