Hands that have been perfectly carved. To provide, lift up and shield life from harm. Feet that has borne the burdens of shame, heaviness and blame.
A back that has been beaten, eyes that has grown tired and a life that has traveled weary. Who, can tame and wear the mask for you, Dear man?
A provider, yes you are. Beyond average but a man you are. Tell me, whom is the woman that can respect and cherish you?
Whom is the flower that can touch the fur of a hungry lion and feed his back, the cushion it needs, for when it's time for his rest?
Speak, softly the spirit he needs, to thrive for days on end? Hold your peace, keep your stance but grow all the more, to be more than he could ask?
Respect the pride he often wears, but gently teach, that there is a new side he can wear? Water his garden, from the bruises he took on his shoulders?
Have you been taught, to walk, see, talk as a lady? Wear the coat of wisdom, and silence your tongue, when he grows blinded and mangled?
Listen, even when you cannot understand? Grow past the emotions, that often keeps you hidden, beautiful woman. Not strip yourself to be his slave, but give him his needs, in doses, as faith caters to your needs.
Whom is the woman, that can endure, the gift of being a lady? To love and honor, a soul, that needs the understanding of a woman? Our power lies not in our empowerment, but in our ability to submit, to the one that has proven, to be the protector of our light. May you learn, the importance of being, a wife.