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First Line: What can one do to move her not wanting
Last Line: This recipe, if she takes it insures love's what she makes it.
Subject(s): Women


What can one do to move her not wanting any lover
Or thinking that she doesn't, objecting that she mustn't?
Is it the economic devil that gripes her stomach,
Concerned about the money instead of Hymen's honey?

Is it her dainty sandal halts at the thought of scandal,
Is it she's just obeying what other folks are saying?
Perhaps her keen mind whittles the point of roof and victuals;
Maybe the thought of clothing invests mere love with loathing.

Is it because she's clever she vows she'll marry never --
Earring her board and keep, dresses and place to sleep?
Is it her style of worship prevails against a courtship,
Stifling the grand obsession until she makes "confession"?

Her shrinking heart believing death threatens one conceiving --
The pang of bringing forth will snatch her from the earth?
Her delicate recollection of some obscene infection
Points at the infant Cupid as loathsome, silly, stupid?

Clearly her fibre's spun not from an Amazon
Who, dreaming not of tabes, easily bore her babies.
Despite such fears assailing, love, love is all-prevailing
And in the end may win her like every healthy sinner.

Let her spell and say and write "I love" all day and night;
So finally her hormones shall shame the blissful Mormons.
Let the girl just say "I love you," but loud enough to move you,
And so her heart shall soften saying it over often.

One mounts the heavenly stair on the winged words of prayer
As often as there be beads in the rosary.
Thus counting them, she may sweeten her dour dismay.
This recipe, if she takes it insures love's what she makes it.





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