Fetch your hoe and I will, my own
Without delay, to the field let us go.
Of water and food, here is the basket
Not on the patches ahead can we sit
But on what we cleared shall we rest
Lest, broken down, to lethargy succumb
And fail to see through our day at work
I will take the left rows of crop and you,
On the shearing side, the right hand one.
How you weed, my dear, from side to side,
And now, between your legs, thrust and cut.
Slashing and laying down, grass and scrub,
With dexterity, you almost turn around.
But way beckons, to the end of the field.
What a hand you wield, your back free
Of the baby and loose the wrapping cloth.
Even the crops can not wait to drop an ear.
Your hips, bulging hips, how they swing,
Your waist, just wastes me, breaks me up
Oh my dear. I cannot keep pace. Oh my grace.
All the time swishing, shifting and shuffling.
Panting, heaving, and shaking like milk curds
In a big bowl, cooled under the shady mango tree.
Out, sweat beads flee from the fire, slake the thirst
From breasts leap, on a last sigh of suicide, but firstly.
Oh breath, which the more beautiful, I can not tell.
To stop the drop, makes haste the delight, to expel
Do not laugh, ‘am half dead, by you tired already.
Those stretch marks, are rills of mountain springs
And to the forecourt rush, clear water they bring us.
For fear of lightning flash, young men must shut eyes
Turn away, modesty and grooming are now at stake,
Low reach dresses serve well the country and ladies.
The prying sun, far and near gossip, curiosity fans.
Those in thrall, of well feathered nest, the chest bans.
Come over to my side and let us swap round.
Fables and tales, far and wide, carry our fame.
Your groins, are the pot that cast other pots,
And so the hidden watering hole took over.
The left of your buttocks, is the right one.
Quivers lascivious like jelly on a plate.
Shake or quake please just do not break
When I pass, I fear to pass out.
That is how the first was born
When the loin cloth was torn
Right under a bush of thorn