the grand lady of nature,
renowned for her reliability,
her abilities to restore the living
as the seasons drift into the next,
her tyrannical laws of instinct
that rule the behavior
of the creatures,
the inflexible urge that
lives inside the living
to propagate the species
as she has done since Eve
entered the garden of Eden,
the blessed urge that lives inside
with its keen eyes, possessive arms,
its ability to find and follow the scent
with its determined mind and soul,
rousing the senses with a
hypnotic fluid as it runs to the brain,
silencing the power of reason
on a mission to follow the
inflexible laws of propagation,
the all powerful leading the blind to the
home of pleasure, the epitome of bliss,
while following the laws of creation,
but sometimes the blind runs amuck.
Sometimes it runs to forbidden places.
Sometimes it seeks out the wrong counsel.
Sometimes it follows the wrong deity.
Sometimes it soils the hands of heaven.
Sometimes the beloved is an object of lust,
just a temporary satisfaction of the urge,
a giver of a one-sided, selfish joy,
as the senses follow the plan of creation,
and the mystified conscience has
no power of discrimination,
while man is accused of acting as he should,
when all he did was apply his weakness.