Beloved brothas,
I beg you take heed
b'fore you're emasculated, whipped with the reed
and your heart bleeds.
Indeed, she's not a chase so daring,
but a woman of simplicity,
plain in her beauty.
Yet, some women possess a sassy strut—
falling for her,
you're nothing more than a rock on her manicured finger,
as she's in and out of your life like a blur; 
she justifies denying love that she's never known
as love and loss becomes a cycle
and her tears of the past are recycled
until she grows weary and cold.
Or she may be full of drama,
nothing more than some baby's mama
who will seek to rob ya
of everything you are or are to be.
Instead, she patiently suffers the storms,
her uneasy face forlorn
until the love you once shared is reborn.
Her mark will be forever remembered
though she's not cosmopolitan
like today's woman,
but in many lives and on many lands
she's given her tiring breath 
to nurture
both the known and the stranger.
Never a whoremonger,
her gentleness comes from the purified spirit within,
love given from the hearth of her kitchen,
warmth found in her den.
A song I've given you,
so brotha—for her—
get your act together
and be all the man you can be to her;
don't give another man a chance
to fill the void in her heart
with the deeds he'll dearly depart,
leaving the years you've built together ripped apart.