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
**** 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.