Chanson un peu naïve
by Louise Bogan (1967-1970)

What body can be ploughed,
Sown, and broken yearly?
She would not die, she vowed,
But she has, nearly.
         Sing, heart sing;
         Call and carol clearly.

And, since she could not die,
Care would be a feather,
A film over the eye
Of two that lie together.
         Fly, song, fly,
         Break your little tether.

So from strength concealed
She makes her pretty boast:
Plain is a furrow healed
And she may love you most.
         Cry, song, cry,
         And hear your crying lost.

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