Love Song
You lime of the forest, honey among the rocks,
Lemon of the cloister, grape of the savannah.
A hip to be enclosed by one hand;
A thigh round like a piston.
Your back – a manuscript to read hymns from
You eyes , trigger happy, shoot s heroes.You gown cobweb-tender
Your shirt like soothing balm
Soap? O no, you wash in Arabian scent.
Your calf painted with silver lines.
I dare not touch you!
Hardly dare to look back.
You mistress of my body:
More precious to me than my hand or foot.
Like the fruit of the valley, the water of paradise.
Flower of the sky ,wrought of divine craftsmen;
With muscular thigh she stepped on my heart.
Her eternal heal trod me down.
But have no compassion with me;
But have no compassion with me:
Her breast resembles the forest gold;
When she opens her heart –
The Saviours Image!
And Jerusalem herself, sacred city,
Shouts “Holy! Holy!”
- Amaharic Traditional
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