Her eyes sparkle with the setting of the sun,
And her sway reminds me of African perfection.
She is the daughter of her father,
Fed with milk and raised with good manners,
Her name is Agina, the daughter of the East.
Unlike other girls she is not shy,
She balances her pot each dusk from the stream,
I am her secret audience and she knows,
She has found me once or twice,
But waved me off with a proud smile that binds me to her,
A smile only fit for the gods.
Other village men have harvested her wrath when they try,
And they fear her piercing gaze,
The same gaze that lights up my heart.
Her skin is as black as the pot she carries,
And her legs slender like the bamboo,
Her shape resembles her mother's gourd,
And her breasts only shake to the rhythm of her walk,
Her voice silences the birds at dawn,
And her sweat glistens in the noon sun,
Her gap in her teeth is my gate to her heart,
And her eyes that see in the dark have trapped me in her heart.
Her place in the market is blessed,
As she takes no left overs to her mother's house,
She is rumored to be the secret to their wealth,
She takes no part in cheap gossip,
And has her own herd among her father's cattle.
She is the princess of her own realm.
I know I am the one for her,
Even sways of leaves remind me of her graceful dance,
And I want that dance in our marital bed,
I want my father's grandson to come from her,
Black to the core with strength and height of a warrior,
It is Agina I want,
And no size of dowry will turn me back.
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