Doing Too Much

You could tell her poetry that speaks from the heart,

But to her, it may be words, mere words.

And you could write her song that bridge worlds apart.

And yet feel like a worm reaching for the birds.

And you could build for her a castle in sky,

Before admiring the beauty, she asks you "Why?"

And you could move mountains to get her a sapphire.

And yet it does not set the heart of stone afire.

And you could do a thousand, thousand things bar one.

And tear the moon from the skies and give her the sun;

Give her pearls carved from the every tear you ever cried,

And show her scars scoured in your heart when you tried.

She pleads frailty, a damsel in distress;

She pleads misconstruement, pain and duress.

She says she needs space, she says she needs time.

She puts up every wall until the words no longer rhyme...

Women.

Harlequin