You got plastered before all of mans’ army,
a bootlegged staggering saint;
a son with no son to instruct in
the rites of a drunken bum’s war.
So you took up your girls by the hand
and led them before all the men -
they gave counsel before they could stand,
rivered castles un-mirrored by sand;
and you wrapped them in paper armour -
stuck down at the sides with gin;
with the name of their game a strong tower,
there was no man, they could not unmake.