I am nothing if not a woman,
Apologies on painted lips,
My head always diverted
By my heart's fervent eclipse.

If my heart is made of moonlight,
Then my skin is tender lace
Handle with care, or I may tear,
Guilt's rosy stain upon my face.

'Tis true my soul is fragile,
Melancholy as the dove,
But scarce are men as willing
To pour out all they have of love.

To bleed and cry for all to see,
To swallow pride at any length,
This pow'r is one unknown to men-
Vulnerability as strength.