by M. M. Kolf
O man, what is this hatred you keep
With so much spent that you’re weak
For someone so fierce
So lean and mean
For such a soldier fighting machine
She poses no threat and yet
There you stand
So tall and grand
Narrowed eyes revile
She who was once a child
Created by God
Don’t blame her, blame you
For her evil is not as true
As the demon in you
