<p><strong>The African Woman </strong></p><p><em><strong><br></strong></em></p><p><em><strong>Clouds long to be her apparel, </strong></em></p><p><em><strong>Dainty roses, the glow that grace her movements,</strong></em></p><p><em><strong>The sun, her face,</strong></em></p><p><em><strong>The moon, her skin, </strong></em></p><p><em><strong>Her wrists dance in flavourful 'flemor',</strong></em></p><p><em><strong>Hips steady, slow like springing lilies,</strong></em></p><p><em><strong>Cascading down like gentle waterfalls,</strong></em></p><p><em><strong>Brown-mahogany layer glistening and glowing under the fierce sun,</strong></em></p><p><em><strong>The bright blue sky dimming in contrast when she smiles, </strong></em></p><p><em><strong>And the moon and stars disappearing when she cries,</strong></em></p><p><em><strong>Rare like jewels, resilient lines on her face,</strong></em></p><p><em><strong>Oh! What wonderful, beautiful, marvellous grace.</strong></em></p>
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