She comes in with the dark humour 
Her periods are marked with silence 
No busyness in her majestic business
Quiet, still and dead in her presence
Machines long for her with eagerness
So to overrule the user’s superintendence. 
She’s stone cold yet with softheartedness
For her arrival is destined with suspense
Yet her hour is like the pop of a champagne
We all follow the crusaders of disappointment
While our hearts are happy dancing to rest
We would cast and throw out ill words to her
While we sluggers kiss her hand, her Majesty
For with the man made helpers off 
There’s no plough deep we all sleep.