The Secret.

Ladies…
I know a little secret,
I’ll not share with other men.
It’s deep, it’s dark, it’s truth is stark,
It’s come down millennium.
It’s so complex that a genius,
Would have to give it a rest,
Yet, so disarmingly simple..
A child could tell it best.
I first heard it’s whisper in the wild oats,
Whose husks had shed their seed.
The breezes hustled the golden sheaths,
Where small lizards scurried beneath.
It was told me in the cries of birds,
The scratching bark of the mallee tree.
It was told me in my lover’s embrace,
When we kissed our anniversary.
The secret came from the other side,
Of the wide, vast universe.
But it really started right here and now,
In the confines of this Earth.
It is nothing strange or unusual,
But it can never be told.
It is as young as a first desire,
As a drama about to unfold and
As needed and as fought for,
As the last breath of the old.
The secret was known to those,
That first built ancient Athens town,
That sculptured the mighty Empire of Rome..
And then in anger tore both down.
It was known to Cleopatra,
When as concubine she went to Caesar
But when in the time of anarchy,
Presented as a Queen to Marc Antony.
It was sought by Van Gogh’s sad postman,
His crows in a wheaten field,
It was held in the breast of Manet’s
Absinthe Drinker’s desolate gaze.
It is a hunger never satiated,
A thirst never quenched.
A vein to mine as rich as Croesus ,
Yet a pauper would have more wealth.
But..
It is denied to the cruel and greedy,
Those seekers of mammon and of wealth.
For it can be seen in their gold and silver ,
Their envy and their pelf.
That there, at the base of every grand building,
Be built of marble or Platinum.
Lay the broken, twisted bodies ,
Of abandoned, homeless humans.
So they will never be rewarded,
With it’s velvet glove of desire,
Their hands too full already,
Their eyes too blind to inquire.
So :
Ladies…
There is this little secret that ,
I’ll not share with other men.
It’s deep, it’s dark , it’s truth rather stark.
Though the wording mostly unseen.
You may know it or at least sense it,
For it was whispered you at birth.
You wear it as a heritage,
You shed it at your death.
Though you may not explain it fully,
There are times , I think you know..
When the call of men and children,
Must need your attention most of all.
I promise I will never reveal it,
Because that secret is held you see..
In a knowing look , a furtive wink,
exchanged in passing,
Just between you and me.

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