Would it be that I be loved by she
Who gave me life and breathe
Would it be that I be treated kindly
By he who is called my brother
Then would I be contented
Would it be that the power giver
Had given enough for those who have it
None would seek to step on the neck
Of those whose loftiness hinder
Then would I be contented
Would it be that my form was perfect
Free from spot or deformity
Dogs would not bark with tails curled under
And small children would not flee
Then would I be contented
Would it be that words harmed not
The heart where sword doth not pierce
Then would I stand straight and strong
And face the battle e’er so fierce
Then would I die contented.
