The A-Woman, A Rose


Beauty lives in her dovely brown eyes
refreshing waters flow from her heart
and blesses the world with emotions
crying brine of pain when she is hurt
and dews of joy when she is loved
In her bosom stands a duo of glory tower
which blesses child and man; her lover
warmth and nubile, a puffy twain teddy
that refreshes with the best-curds, creamy

Under the sahara sun, her arms still burn
of her love and strenght, she tends
the garden, and harvests the field of corn
refections in the kitchen, as her hearth burn

Her love is an ocean, that drown many fishes
her lover, is the fish, who swims in her tides
the kids, exunt her love-cave, dolings
to her nights of pain, but yet in the morns
to 'em she serves in love, milky
Her lover loves her haunches, a house
so much of vigor, where the joy of coitus
feeds him at every visit, wetly a douse
for his nightly rutting, hugs for his phallus

On her back, she bears the burden
her tens of young, was raised then
on her back, she dote-straps them
24-months, before independence
their purring snore, she bore them
as on her bare bossom, they cladden

A-woman, my mum is, a winner
a lover, a home, prized emotion.
Written by Doleuche
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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