On Becoming Woman

To lay between two hungry hounds,
And bare no violent traits.
To give no power to the fates,
In their capricious state.
Only then the Siren Sounds
Of dependence and excuse
Will have no further use
And set Neurosis loose.
When you break this virgin ground,
The dawn moves to mid-morning.
Now a skeptic, once adoring,
With ne'er a foreward warning,
A better self is found.
For some the morning passes swift.
Others tend to lag and drift.
And the Girls transormed, a precious gift.
Flawless, perfect, pound for pound.