Of all the institutions, marriage is the most infantile. When I ask you your hand, I do not do so, to ask you to wed. Why, severe my arm if I did! For I would be a bandit poisoning your wells Choking your doves and stealing your words. Instead, I ask a nod of respect, A gesture of encouragment and support A pat on my head, that would set me free, Running about with my dirty hands and dusty knees. Skipping and hopping across the creek Stomping in puddles, Collecting rocks and hunting frogs. Ah! such childish dreams ... Maturity was never my game.
August 28, 2010