Or woman, say I,
The one between but not,
Better to say a little of both,
Some of each she's got.
Sometimes just right, a balanced feat,
He's not too hot or cold.
Or else a transitory place
Becomes unhappy, old.
The poles, the dialectic spot
Comes only for a moment.
It's only right, it only fits
A time, a place, to foment.
The Philosoph, the absolute
Might find the perfect balance.
God himself, he knows them all
Among an inf'nite parlance.
Unhappy is the face between
Two fists that are at war.
Her fate to lose, his destiny
A casualty of war.
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