Her name is Halima
And she leans from her window
In her hijab that covers her hair
Halima don't spit on the people below

Her mama laughs - My Halima!
But that's her little daughter
And she knows when Halima spits -
It's - the purest rose water

Halima's hijab is of the greenest green
That covers her chestnut hair
With the handprint of a man
Large and brown embroidered there

And her long white dress embroidered
With buds and leaves and thorny stems
And secret roots and blooms of roses
In her house above the Thames

Halima don't spit! Her mama chides
But the people sailing by
Think the air is filled with roses
So they smile and they sigh

As Halima in her hijab
With the handprint of a man
Turns the ***** river to rose water
As only Halima can ...