Perhaps the wheel of change

Perhaps the wheel of change Becomes more and more visible When a lasso round your own throat Begins to dangle, devoted, unconditional. And doesn't hinder how the head can turn. And let the husband be both head and neck. And may the suffix «-ish» that's taken root, alas, Drop off on the Last Day of Pompeii. These days it's boyISH lads all round. Full of doubts like Adam and Eve. Their womanly «ailment» isn't new at all — Some bloke once popped their cherry, I believe. He'll make them think: better this than be a bloke, Leaving the kids to hexes, creeds and prayer. And dish out wallops with a calloused fist, With a smile: à la guerre comme à la guerre I trust that we are surely not allowed To foresee the crooked course events will tread. And if to [he, she] an «it» is added now, Let it drop the hands from its shoulders and use its head.