Iron.

I wonder how long I’ve lived so lacking.

Of the metal in my blood.

The metal that a woman was once named,

Who lifted a nation brisk and poised.

Dearly, has it made me this weakness?

Has my stress of strength been my own proposal

Of doubt?

How do you favor so much further and

Brighter, so clean and conspicuous,

So feeble and wasted on your own arrogance?

Why can’t I have that chastised heart,

That ample love undone?

You walk and you wait,

The iron in your veins.

And not in mine.

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