Should she

Shake you with outrage, 

Leave your vast abyss agape,  

Be insolent enough to isolate,

Presume your bolts alone dictate—

Then sputter your thunderous rain;

Mark how she howls against your scorn. 

.

Should she 

Dare be irksome still,

You clip her thorns,

Drape her in all you adorned,

You mold, have her reformed—

Yet she gyrates until she is nude, 

And lifts the land in spirals torn askew.

.

Why should you

Try to prune her winding vines,

Swathe her in a dignified guise,

Yet relish in her skies?

Perhaps longing for such a life—

Her dauntless smile, reckless wiles

For deep within your caverns

You know she will plunge the dive

You would dare not try.