She’s the red, red dove of attrition
her ambiance is the steely resolve
of a daughter of eve, now
wizened in the ways of men
But there are voices she hears
echoing from abyss of tomb
living ghosts from virulent past
once incidental occupants of her womb!
In the daytime of night
she will prowl our streets once again
buoyed by that earthy restlessness;
for remember her name is Natisha,
and her wares will predate our tears!