Yin



            


          Inhale, exhale, like accordion-
     organ of music in your being, conducive.
Nor elusive to your counterpart, woman.

Be thou what you love to be.
Do not listen to militants 
that whisper fighting words out of insecurity,
that smell a foul smell,
of self burning the fields,
the green things of bountiful yields,
leave us choking on the smoked embers, 
entrails of the tares, and quardon off cultivation 
for the Valleys of shale.
Overtaken, by crawling things.

Or a boastful hare, with Men's running shoes and masculine fare.
Always in a race, bating with trickery, 
the illusionist Tortoise against her own shell.

Nourishment is an honor bestowed.
Remember, that the servant is truly the King.
The provider is the Matriarch held in the greatest of steams, 
saute of the home,
taste of generosity, 
aroma of security.
Yang, you have quite the mistress,
indeed the support of a mystery,
remember this, well.

artode

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