I.
Forged from the most blazing of gypsy fires;
Only cooled by the waters of the north.
Double bladed and perfectly balanced,
Within she is filled with the deepest of passions and a joy for life
That would turn the weakest of men to ash and cinder.
Her strong, sleek, cold-steal frame gives her an air most noble,
That would turn the courageous into cowards.

II.
One swing too far to the left or the right by the inexperienced
Can leave one’s soul mortally wounded.
An endless ache and searing pain driving one to the brink
Shattering that which God holds most sacred
Leaving both, cold, lost and alone.

III.
Such is the sword called, “Woman”
A Lady, a gypsy, of both fire and ice.
Equal in beauty and danger.
“Who can whiled such a weapon?”
No one! Save the one she was made for.

IV.
The master of sword’s build is very much like
The companion he carries at his side,
He is careful not let her drag on behind
As so the sharpness of her point is not dulled.
Yet is ever aware that if it is too sharp,
Then will do what is necessary as to not hurt himself or others.
With a delicate and loving hand he caresses, and embraces her.
Giving her slender frame a polished mirrored finish
Compared only to the shine of the stars.

V.
He doth not see himself as her better
“Slave” and “Master” “Male” and “Female”
Nor are they seen as equals,
For one can not survive one with out the other.
Separate they are nothing,
She an extenuation of him and he of her.
They are one!

VI.
In this journey of life they will face many things.
Dark is that path, but God lights the way.
Many enemies they will face, but
Together they are an unbeatable force.

VII.
Such is the sword called, “Woman”
A Lady, a gypsy, of both fire and ice.
Equal in beauty and danger.
“Who can whiled such a weapon?”
No one! Save the one she was made for.

©2007 Shana L Martin