She sits rooted

As though grown from the orb

Her skin blending with earth

In dust coloured splendour

The talcum that nature

Used to enhance her beauty

Applied carelessly, freely

As free as the breeze

That dash against her matter hair

Making each strand

Sway like pendulum

And creatures seeking shelter

Within like birds and bees

In and on shade giving trees

The heaving of twin globes

Barely covered or hidden

In tattered rags for robes

Shaking like moons

Of some static planet

Only those eyes

Deeper than coal mines

Flashing flames of ire

At destiny’s cruel joke

That placed her in the yoke

Of poverty and stain

From which she’d rise

Had she not been rooted

Like some sapling that survived

The harsh summer’s sun