From womb to tomb, from cradle’s resting grave,
We grow upon our life – from boys to men
And men we love so varied in the saves
That grow from them. To save our souls with pens.
Am I to love, adore, and coddle her
If men in front – unholy – do not lead?
Example lacked and path too crooked – blurred –
For steps of mine to follow. Men are dead.
Even while lacking men to follow, I
Do vow to treat as Queen my love so dear.
To be her structure; always standing high.
So, next to me, she’ll never suffer fear.
As I proceed to lament, I just ban
The doubts; to be the best to her I can,
To never flee, just love; to live and die a man.