A Gender Neutral Love Story

Now that we are in an age when the past must be reshaped to our temporary modern prejudices, it is time to hurl ourselves* sword a-whirling into the ranks of English** poets.

See how the application of gender-neutral pronouns improves William Barnes, for instance:

WOAK HILL, by William Barnes

When sycamore leaves wer a-spreadèn

Green-ruddy in hedges,

Bezide the red doust o' the ridges,

A-dried at Woak Hill;

I packed up my goods all a sheenèn

Wi' long years o' handlèn,

On dousty red wheel ov a waggon,

To ride at Woak Hill.

The brown thatchen ruf o' the dwellèn,

I then wer a-le{'a}vèn,

Had shelter'd the sleek head o' Me{'a}ry,

My bride at Woak Hill.

But now vor zome years, zir light voot-vall

'S a-lost vrom the vloorèn.

Too soon vor my ja{'y} an' my childern,

Zie died at Woak Hill.

But still I do think that, in soul,

Zie do hover about us;

To ho vor zir motherless childern,

Zir pride at Woak Hill.

Zoo--lest zie should tell me hereafter

I stole off 'ithout zir,

An' left zir, uncall'd at house-riddèn,

To bide at Woak Hill--

I call'd zir so fondly, wi' lippèns

All soundless to others,

An' took zir wi' a{'i}r-reachèn hand,

To my zide at Woak Hill.

On the road I did look round, a-talkèn

To light at my shoulder,

An' then led zir in at the doorway,

Miles wide vrom Woak Hill.

An' that's why vo'k thought, vor a season,

My mind wer a-wandrèn

Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely

A-tried at Woak Hill.

But no; that my Me{'a}ry mid never

Behold zirzelf slighted,

I wanted to think that I guided

My guide vrom Woak Hill. 

- adapted from the text found at https://www.poemhunter.com/poem/woak-hill/

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* But why do we distinguish between self and other? Another fruitful field for the university Bowdlerisers, perhaps.

** And then there's nationality! 

Surely we are in the prigs' Promised Land. 

Or California. maybe:

"California's New Transgender Regulations: What Employers Need to Know" -

https://www.lexology.com/library/detail.aspx?g=1ac6ffa8-6ebd-4185-bfae-7ad54e005780

I think it's all San Andrea's fault.