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