As You Pastures Your Goat
I saw thee standing on the Parra grass
With all thine elegance and daintiness
Thy pulchritude is like an expensive glass
Oh! Thou art the image of my happiness.
On thy hands is rolling rope
As an heirloom from thine mother dear
With all the courage and hope
Shining brightly without a fear.
How lovely to see thee when you sway thine hands
Holding the rope of memories
How beautiful thou art when you take a glance
This takes all my deep-down worries.
I hear the pleasant sound of thine voice
That can captivate the passing boys
‘Tis your songs can heal the broken heart
As you sing it with joy and with art.
When afternoon come, you need to say goodbye
To the Parra grass and butterflies
Heading towards the lovely home
To the place where you belong.
Copyright © Ruth Wrights | Year Posted 2017
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