Perplexing to feminine thought,
a man's love seems easily fleeting.
Swept stealthily away by a puff
of perfume scented air,
a hint of a smile.
Male strength, desired completely,
by woman's wonton, gentle heart.
To catch, hold and claim it
as a possession to be owned.
Yet....how can one own
what by nature has no cage?
For not even men own their own hearts,
answering a primitive call
in wild abandonment,
An urging power to spin its seed
wherever it can find a field to be tilled.
And many are the fertile grounds
that willingly lay down its garden
to be sowed.