On A Nail

A dark-skinned beauty,

Absorbed in her duty,

Head bent, brow moist,

Her secret desires unvoiced.

In the background baskets hang,

Perfectly balanced like the ying and yang,

Her ebony bosom a delightful treat,

To the young men in the street.

Her gay skirt rustles and sways,

In the dank, dusty haze,

Her fingers nimbly caress the bands,

Which take shape in her skillful hands.

A cotton cloth covers her hair,

Protecting her from the sun's glare,

The sparkling clusters at her feet,

Beat out a melody ever so sweet.

Her rural garb of mustard and green,

From the next village can be seen,

Its beauty stems from her face,

It simply reflects her ethereal grace.