I wrote a poem a lifetime ago Eight pages in length, of beauty to show This girl what I thought that her world could be But how did I know she would want none of me? The beauty we build, we nurture and grow Falls victim to pain and the hurt that I know When beauty created is thrown to the dust Ignored, overlooked in favor of lust For something a writer could never provide Of something that low men make no pains to hide “Only fair,” said the snake to the injured raccoon “What use in your life is shooting the moon?” “You will only find hurt in the care you dispatch, for the ones you seek now look just to attach to the same kind of men who have hurt them before until it seems you can take it no more.” “Welcome life,” mocked the snake as the young raccoon bled “You will find you idealism beaten and dead. And beside it your words, actions and dreams Thrown to the curb as an end to the means.” “And by giving her faith that some men are good she returns to the low ones, thinking they should Be better men, a good man and true She will never consider a good man like you.” “For considering that would break all the rules, You can show her the truth, rat, but you lack the tools To show her why you are a possible match By the time you have learned them she’s just closed the latch.” “And in that locked chamber she will give to that man Everything sacred, according to plan Everything you hold up and revere Will be given to him, my young chevalier.” The snake silenced now to let it sink in Virtue for women is lower than sin For while sin attracts those we seek to set free Virtue is a trait few women can see.