Nymph of Mombasa
She passed me, I thought, on a moped
Clad in a Muslim garb and covered face
Leaving behind the flavour of a smile
And hurried on towards an edifice ahead
I watched in awe and wished I had seen more
Then as she approached the edifice
The foreground turned into a lawn
Upon which she trod ever so serenely
Her garb unfolding into a bride’s train
That stretched a hundred feet behind
But she turned not and I saw naught
Of the beautiful nymph of Mombasa.
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