she was as sweet as the dripping honey,
fair as the morning leaves,
her touch was smooth,
and warm like the afternoon sky,
her voice was soft,
her words....oh..
melodious tunes of an African clay cast,
she walked with the goose sway,
left.. bum.. bum.. right.. bum.. bum,
rythmique...
after her, many ran,
to be welcomed with the painted smile,
that weakened every eye that did cast a glance,
in they went,
out they came, each a tale so different,
they did pride selves on the Conquest,
the lions that laid the prey,
now she lies ,
cold and grey,
scaled and thin as a desert horse,
none after her runs...
tonight the ropes will bury the brave,
such farewells of pleasure bid
