Yes She Is.

Light showers of rain
outline the beauty that maketh a woman
as she dances to the beats of her lyrical voice.

One day the joy of puberty
will be repead in a dream of 9 moons
as screams of bitter sweet pain will bring a tear.

Her back will be the bearer of stories
as the threads on her forehead
are interlaced with memories that a generation will hear.

Is she not beautiful?
As a cloud upon her head
draws a picture to the end of the festival called life.

Yes she was in the august rain.
Yes she was in the sweat of childbirth and
Yes she is withered and gray in her mahogany casket today.