An ice-queen I love!
The moon will be abashed, the sun ashamed, If on such a day I fail to open my floodgates and scribble this confessional melody. Every morning, as mist is swept away and dawn is spread across the mountains, These mornings, her steps trample the ground in hurried fashion, Paces accustomed to vision and focus! From distant safeness, my gaze captures her frame swaying away like a hut in the wind, To where? I wonder! For sure dusk will find me in my usual post of watch, Awaiting the replenishing sight of she as she trods back. I speak of none but of a ship that secretly trades her wares in my waters of infatuation, All that swims the path of the seas of passion, in mine they desist, For she alone I let! This African W.O.M.A.N I so drool! Yet, the smile of a stone! Warmness by her is a dead valley, for she is an ice-queen! As heat is reduced by the shadow of a cloud, so the expressions of suitors her way are stilled by she! Even the islands in the sea are terrified at