I love you for your brownness,
What's more, the adjusted haziness of your bosom,
I love you for the breaking pity in your voice
What's more, shadows where your wayward eyelids rest.
Something of old overlooked sovereigns
Hides in the flexible relinquish of your walk
What's more, something of the shackled slave
Wails in the beat of your discussion.
Goodness, minimal darker young lady, conceived for distress' mate,
Keep all you have of queenliness,
Overlooking that you used to be slave,
What's more, let your full lips snicker at Fate!