The movement the young girls made when going down the street,
Their cloth tied around their waists could not hide the beauty of the movement and swaying of their hips and juggling of young breasts.
The shape of their bodies, the outline of their waist beads,
Youthful as they came, young, immature and fresh.
Their chests heaved up and down in unison with their walking,
with their laughter with their singing.
Sweat glistened on their exposed skin giving them a glossy look.
They were girls in their prime.
Suddenly they stopped.
A beautiful full-bodied woman came towards them.
She was very curvaceous; her breasts hung lower, her hips broader,
Her stomach was much rounder, but there was something about her movement that was different.
Her waist was thicker with ripples and mounds,
Her arms fuller and her back firmer.
She was a woman in her prime.
Who could beat that?
The girls look on as she passed by and said to themselves "one day we will be like her"
The envy showed in their eyes as the proud woman went by,
Balancing her goods on her head.
She was the most sought after woman in the village,
Widowed two years ago she had mourned deeply and now blossomed as the dark clothes were removed from her.
She had confidence, knowledge, wisdom and the experience of love, pain and loss.
She could weather all storms that came her way,
But right now she just lived for herself and loved her family.
When she walked by there was something erotic about her.
That was the mystery about her that got the young girls staring,
The young men anxious and the old men nodding their heads as the beautiful woman passed by swaying, swaying, swaying.
I love this poem.
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