We can write of battles and sing of wars
count the dead and keep the scores
but the tragedies hidden in history
the poor wee stories we rarely see

Mothers mourning absent sons
children cold in front of guns
waiting women for the pain
of knowledge that their men are slain

Women make up half the world
give birth to all like flowers unfurled
but history seems to look past them
and cram our books with such great men

In ancient distant Celtic days
the women wise in every way
would help and march beside the men
to guide and heal and be with them

Christian laws came to make them weak
took away their power to speak
stopped the midwife and nature's nurse
said they were witches with a curse

So men at most are children wild
so rarely fit for life great trials
and as a care worn  specimen
my love  is strained for fellow men

The world does change and we can grow
now women heal and use life's glow
to challenge in a subtle way
all of men's damage done today

Easier to take life than create
and to vilify love and strive to hate
but if we stop and count the score
how many women started a war?