The girl from my village
in her full and blossoming mien
Moveing enroute the green grassy spillage
On her shoulder hung a rocking basket
Supported by a free hand, without a wrestling hoe

The girl from my village
Slim and tall, like a bamboo tree A bunch of dry grass adorn her head
Spilling over her eyes, her face
Her head bearing fine spined spider net

The girl from my village ……..
Full and filled like wine pitchers
Like a full, matured riped paw –paw
Her lips as glittering and red as a wattle

And the girl from my village
She bent over in two folds ready to till
……. A squelch through the mud, she perked up
And sees a pack of hunting wolves ……………….
“Confused “ then pacinghy, I called out of my voice
Be their family, you know their use and won’t
Band of heartbeat, band of footsteps
Then slowly and dissatisfied they moved away
She bent over in two folds agin, this time
And picked her tools and proceeds of a days job
Looking straight in my eyes, my face
She said, thank you brother, as if wooed by fortune
And moves back, straight to my village
Which amused more than annoyed me.

I stood to watch her, she never looks back
Only that she moves in a pleasing mien
That depicts a true African by nature
Swaying and swaggering her residence
But her footsteps clinked in my heart
As she move on the wide pathway
The girl from my village.