With hair like the wings of night and skin as soft as a summer wind, the beauty of the child of the east is hidden beneath a veil. Oh how your cruel master despises your delicate form. You are layered in garments as though you mourn for your own creation, yet each small detail reveals beauty that no tyranny can hide. Despite the cruelty of your master, your cheek shows the strength of your face and your eyes the deepness of your caring. With hands hardened by your labors yet softened to care for a stranger or a child, your radiance shines forth like the morning sun and you blossom from beneath the covering of your imprisonment like a rare desert rose after the coming of rain to the empty and dry earth of your oppression.