You seem like a hard-working woman
As I pass your country door now
With a hand on your hip -
Slightly breathless
You give me a humourous bow
And I am a weary stranger
I return the gesture with a smile
Then something locks between us
And my soul is yours
For a hundred years
And a mile
Now your door is a place of worship
Where serenga and lavender grow
When you step forward from the darkness
Your shadow moves so slow
With a hand on your hip
In the stillness
The summer air is alive
And you have the air of a goddess
And there is nothing
In this world
I cannot give
Writer(s): Jackie Maym Leven
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