by Geraldine Charles

It’s not a name means much to anyone, these days
But if you’d been a full fine chivalrous knight
of good intent, to rescue maidens fair (then have your way)
this man of summer’s day might give you pause –

He’s not much challenge of himself, you understand.
Equipped and armed of course, but not to fight,
except that for a twelvemonth you must quit his land
and then return – unarmed as new-born lamb from woolly womb.

The real calamity not your unprotected state
of course, you’re beautifully trained in all the manly arts.
No, it’s the poser you must answer straight:
“What is it that a woman wants in all the world?”

They never learn, Freud asked the question too.
For centuries they’ve puzzled now, in fits and starts.
You’ve only got a year.  What can you do?
The clever knight asks women – first ones and then in crowds

That most have no idea shouldn’t really vex
our gentle knight; not many women give a passing thought
and if they did – well surely, they would rise up, all their sex
to take what’s theirs, to have their say – well - wouldn’t they?