Her Beauty

Under the sunburned clay tiles Her face was a pond. Sweats’ dewdrops on her almond skin Keenly waited for the kiss of soil And in the tree lined coolness of the thatched hut She paused for me from her rustic toil. Why do the beauties we deform Bury the raw under heaps of vain Kill the eyes’ wild glowworms Plant there a mascara stain! A girl of toil a girl of soil she’s rustic bred Never deems never dreams for beauty’s parade! Her face was a tree lined pond Her heart’s ocean I never could delve. Only know this much Under the sunburned tiles Her one fleeting smile I would carry through the coming miles.