Go the very river

The river of life, she is
the mother of the trees, friend of the fields
Daughter of the rains and mistress of man

Her dress of many colours
She wraps around; weaving her way home
Through whatever her lover leaves for her
After he has claimed his right

Blossoming in places, she finally laughs
On the faces of the children
Swimming in her bosom
Glorious she nurses,
her breasts full and flowing

Cajoled to change her dance
Labouring to give her all, squeezed often she is
to her last ounce of purity.
Spreading her legs, she lets her man
Taint her, leaving only grey murk behind
His pain, his ills and his life

Nature’s gift, she is cursed by her man
Unmindful she moves on
Giving all she can, receiving the grime
Yet purifies and cleanses the sins of man
Who worships her, plays with her
And often carelessly her virtue and limpidness, destroys.