What Good Serveth Ye O Woman Poem by Michael Eziudo

O woman, of what use art thou
That thine need supersedeth the want for water
That thine man satisfieth not
Unless he thou ye be holden
Thou art a pathway to his heart
The shrub to his healing

O ye man does thou seeth
The gift the universe bestowed unto ye
One that non can her place occupy
And her household no one may fit in

Wanting you a loins satisfaction?
No matter how much thou rubbest it
Thou gettest nothing close to the pull of fresh wine underneath her laps
No matter the money payest thou unto the woman by the window
The heat and pleasure from her loins
Equates not of thine woman
Needest thou more treasure
The rubies on her chest bids thee come thither

Needing thou a mother?
The head rubbing of a strange woman
Has no equal where standeth the warm arm and strong laps of a diligent mother at home

Art thou needest a counselor?
She, the one of thine bosom
The virtuous woman who can find?
Her wisdom surpasses the knowledge in a thousand book
Her principles are fruit yielding
Not like the concubine
Away from God's blessings for ye his son

Thine panth for discipline
The true maiden is with many ways in her fingers
The trick for the builder and the outline for the structure
She has begotten it all

Oh beauty from her
That which maketh thine world a haven
By her means
The thinker would think like her if the world was plainet so
God was a woman

Oh like a pillar she standeth before her man
Of his value she leadeth him to find
And his path she cleareth for him
If ye have one
Thou hath been bestowed a blessing
Oh what good serveth ye o woman