They lay down beside the goddess as she labors in birth.
This one, too, will be another girl… and another…
until there is a sea of women
with only a smattering of male children.
No one knows why the men have become weak.
Their phallus does not rise.
There is but a meager offering of semen.
But the women thrive
with their big thighs and bellies,
giving birth to one female child after another…
The women love men and boys
and when one is born,
they cluster around him
as if he is a prince.
When he comes of age,
all the women mate him
until he is spent.
Then they feed him and lavish him
with delicacies and sweetened ale.
When he is rested and restored,
they feast on him and his stiff cock
until each maiden has had her turn.
They hope and they pray
for a male child to be born.
For it is becoming more and more rare.
They are such delicate creatures after all,
with their body bits dangling out so vulnerable
to every scrape, mistaken graze, or chemical spill.
They must endure a shortened life span as well.
Still, the women sing in a high tremolo
They hope and they pray
to add a son.
