The essence of a woman is that which is most beautiful yet complicated. That confusion is expressed in this poem.

Who is a woman,
Can I know?
Is she the luster,
Of refined gold?
Is she the sweet tune,
Of songs of old?
Is she the mystery,
Of stories foretold?
Is she the brightly red,
Of brand new bows?
Is she the lush greens,
Of hilly meadows?
Is she the love,
That never goes cold?
Is she the laughter,
But never the ohs!?
Is she that crimson red,
The colour of rose?
Is she that sparkle,
That lights the night so?
Or
Is she the devil,
I’ve never been told?
Is she the fear,
That makes me unbold?
Is she that naughty child,
That deserves the scold?
Is she like hot iron,
The hand cannot hold?
Is she the gray hair,
That makes me look old?
Is she the wildest fury,
From within me arose,
Who is this woman,
Can I know?

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