A woman is a thorn bush
Hidden from the eyes,
A scorpion beneath the rouge
And such cosmetic lies,
A cloaked and hooded sorceress
In angelic disguise,
A deadly combination
Of hell and paradise.
A fool marked for destruction
Is like putty in her hands
Whose reward is honeyed kisses
Or the venom from her glands
Like at the mercy of the winds
Are the desert sands
And atmospheric madness
No simple-minded granule understands.
A woman is a thorn bush
Concealed beneath the skin:
Cursed is he who loves her
For wicked is her grin.
