She has no voice

But the song of her living

Each day a melody

Of movement

Sweeping as a wind

Rustles wheat and reed

Cleaning as the swallow

Dips through the sky

Cooking as the sun

Glints on the rising dust

Sleeping

As the wave rolls beneath

The hull

Youth no longer her ally

But age never her enemy

Golden hair turned

To grey, blue eyes

Faded and a glance of

Faded passion,

But passion still.