Amazon women cut off their breast
That they might pull the bow the best
And slay the rogues, before whom, undressed,
They'd likely languished unmolest.
“There’s no treasure here, her chest is spare”
Hirsute barbarian soon declares,
Then, shot right through, his heart too, laid bare
Learns to rue the sex more fair.
A laying down of arms might have repaired
This wound that cleaves from him to her.
Now quiet and sweet, his constant stare
Beguiles her fingers through his hair.