July 28, 1999
Poem from David Donlon
SHE ASSAYED A MYSTERIOUS
For the last time let's gird up the
The shining armor, sharp sword and shield,
Helm and visor; lead the charger
Toward battle, to tilt with the dragon that
Not woman but the myth of woman,
Once more, and finally, to slay the many
Liv'd beast, and let the woman come out
As she may, at least no longer mythy.
Draw thy sword and swing as you pass, warrior!
Yet, no? Do you dare tempt the wrath of the
Stay -- surely that shining hair that spills
Thy helm belongs to no man. Then at your own
Comand, warrior! I am no sovereign here. Thy
Self is sovereign and beholden to none, not
To a poet. At this pass, perhaps she will
As she may. What? Dismounted? Oh, woman,
What is thy game? I am overmastered here --
Must hold my tongue, or write of men and dogs.
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