Fiery Venus, crystal of the dawn or dusk,
shimmers in the cusp of day and velvet night
with startled brilliance that makes us gasp in awe.
We gaze at beauty seen and never to be touched.
Women are from Venus, is too often said
But Venus is a roasted, poisoned place of woes
Too close by far to mother sun’s discomfort zone
Too piping hot for normal earthbound men by far.
Men are from Mars, they say, the planet bringing war
Balefully imbued with grave malevolence.
Tinged with rusty hues it circumnavigates
In cooler regions of our nightly pantheon
But, looking ever closer, now we understand
That life is not impossible on Martian soil.
Hidden ‘neath its crust we find a friendliness
That shallow men and women cannot fathom yet.
No wonder, then, that impish errors filter through
When writers cannot see beneath the surface glows
Assuming that a linking theme of gender thrives
Between the music of the spheres so near to us.
Women not from Venus, men are not from Mars
As both are portions of the thread of humankind
That joins, as an immutable umbilical,
And shares us with this garden that we always tend.