Wrapped in silence, a monthly tide,
A natural rhythm, where souls reside.
Crimson flows, a sacred dance,
A cycle of strength, a lover's chance.
The moon's soft glow, a gentle phase,
Mirrors the woman's wondrous ways.
A time of renewal, of grace divine,
A sacred space, truly feminine.
With every month, life's blood runs free,
A symbol of power, wild and carefree.
Though whispers may rise, and shadows may creep,
This cycle is beauty, a promise to keep.
Through pain and discomfort, a strength we hold,
A story untold, a future bold.
In each crimson drop, a history's trace,
A lineage of women, a graceful grace.
Connected by cycles, a mystical bond,
In this monthly shedding, our spirits respond.
Let's honor this journey, embrace the true,
The blood that flows, forever new.
More valuable than any shed by kings,
A testament to life, to all it brings.
With laughter and tears, we stand as one,
In this sacred experience, beneath the sun.
For every ebb and flow, a gift divine,
The miracle of life, a love sign.
The cycle's rhythm, a steady beat,
Nurturing life, forever sweet.
With pride we embrace, this natural art,
In every cycle, a new life's start.