Independent The Woman Poem by James McLain

Verily thus it is straight, I cannot tarry or be any other way him to be.
And not be able to go to bed and go to bed with out you to me.
Bushes under trees with such cedar wood, which has purple heart,
the hand where I was, to near to your chest, beats your art.
The release from thus it is good, moon light so you also it is!
The earth crossing over the eye, it is warm to you then I'm cool.
As for you, it is gently moved within there, then it is our song.
But I am not gold, added with silver, is it not trusted wise?
They do not but to welcome me, walking the path that none take.
Never have I thus before with out you, did I walk and not talk,
independent the woman you are.
Somewhere, I wander about with the weeds, laughing you, I tumble.
And the people hear violins the music that harps make and they shout.
Profits and closed doors, prohibit the making of more, she is, so I am.
Doors, and sounds with their souls and others and others.
In the narrow vast bed of roses himself whom he is, thus I am.
Where we cannot not go, naught to that bed, go peacefully to bed.
Moreover under any condition and someone still I must you to love.
For the best that he gives us the all of this life.
Is the released be it she or he where someone has not gone before.
His coming and going to be it is all, never to hate, but loved by them all.