Here she comes, in her bangles, baubles
& rattling beads,
A tinkling of tin, rustle of reeds & a
dried singing of seeds,
Her jewelry made from everything & all
she could find,
Made by her hands, in anything that came to
her mind.
Shapes moulded & painted, of river mud
& fine bone clay,
Threaded by delicate fingers, at night
& in very short days,
Earrings, of studs & those that
dingled, swayed & dangled,
Necklaces that loop & swing & her
arms wrapped & bangled.
On her long fingers & bare toes, she
wore pretty shiny rings,
Shaking anklets & bracelets, that blings
as she happily sings,
Around her burnished bronze hips, chains
shimmy & shake,
Leaving a long trail of young men, agog in
her passing wake.
Pretty little maiden, of bangles, baubles
& rattling beads,
Sashaying in your coloured jewels, a merry
dance you lead,
Gemstone butterflies in your hair & a
smile upon your lips,
Every dashing Don-Juan wants a kiss from
you, just a tiny sip.
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