Dear Sis,
I know I may ne’er know
How you keep easy and in mirth
Accustomed to the snug bra-strap’s banding, even in snow
Brassiere, like the horse’s girding girth
Darling sister,
I sense I may ne’er get the senses
Of how, monthly, you war within wriggly
Tho’ you win, suffer bloodshed– menses
An esoteric war waged wryly, singly.
Beloved sister,
I reckon I’ll ne’er fathom
How you bear bairns bellyful
When a miracle inflates your tummy like a phantom
Half lady, half floating, bloating pufferfish—awful.
Dear sis,
‘Tis true I can ne’er really construe
What it is to be a lady—so much is involved!
Ofttimes, I misconstrue: “Why makeup? … Why see-thru?”
Now, I know—’Tis how she’s evolved!
Source: Enigmatic Global Concept