IT IS WITHIN HERSELF SHE WILL FIND THE STRENGTH SHE NEEDS
You can never keep a good woman down
Fires on her hilltop, Rings of thorns surrounding her
Sharp eyes and a sharper mind that clocks
Her time the world’s place, her body deemed for seasonal changes
She nestles the quiet in the raging storms
Dances in the rain to the whistle of the drizzle
Swiftly beating into thundering rain drops
Still, her movements casting shadows
She is elated for the fresh breath of air, Lucky Lucy
Little is her luck, the residue of her diligence,
Kindred to a pound of gold
The gods must be smiling down at her
See, it’s been a dry March, a harsh April and a cold May
But this woman’s work was never done
Her toils now reaping bounty
Yet her loaded wagon makes no noise.
While one swallow does not make the summer
She is ecstatic that she can make out the constellations
Her time is now
