Her curly black hair does not glow like crystal brooks on the back of emerald hills
Nor does her face compare to the scent-burst tapestry of a flowery meadow,
But her very presence regulates the beating of my melancholy heart.
Her waist swings like the drumbeat to the melody of the songs of the savannah.
Coffee brown is the colour of her lips and her tender feet massages the ground,
When thoughts of her roam through my weary mind in the silence of the night.
Her eyes tell the story of how truth found love in the most unlikely place:
We ran away at daybreak into the fields to mediate on the budding of flowers
Under the chilling caress of the morning dew, there cupid found us.
Her love came into my life on the wings of a dove, like a band of angels
With divine grace and peace, I thank God that He sent her from heaven above.
She stands by me though there are others who can build her castles.
Her husky voice radiates every strand of gloom when times are trying.
Her silent prayers find me where hope is lost and ushers back into faith.
Her name is the woman, the queen of my heart, the mother of my children.