I can see the marks of your hard work imprinted on your body. They tell a story of their own. One look and I cannot begin to imagine how you have it together. I can smell the strength, so strong in its radiation, its half-life ten times that silicon.
The rings on your calves talk of much endured labour, worn proudly is your skirt; each powerful brisk stride emphasizing their hardness. Your shirt is ironed to perfection, tucked, not a fiber residing out of place. I imagine, you’d give it one frown and it would disappear. The discipline you exude makes me think of all your days of hard work and nights of prayer, illustrating your will power. Your will is impenetrable for you are decisive.
You’re humble too, yes I see it. I see it in the simple up-do of your hair, I see it in the way you’re modestly dressed. Better yet, your immaculacy is reflected in the intricate but neatly styled hair do. I see capability, nimbleness, and your fingers holding secrets of countless beautiful unappreciated inventions. I suppose, you are not given nearly enough due for your craft.
When you turn, the harsh lines on your face, like a slap in the face, are a reminder of the harsh realities of life. How many things have you seen? I wonder… I am in owe of what you have become for even when many see none, embedded in you is a beauty that faded too quickly for life has been too cruel. The dreams you kept as a youth have been stolen away by many a dark cloud.
Your fight projects in your speech; strong, capable, self-sustaining tone you have even if all you speak is vernacular. I sense the patience- years spent taking care of your own have taught you that not to speak of your undeniable courage. You are as a woman should be. Your culture is present in the way you kneel when speaking to those you know, loyalty engraved so deeply, even your old-fashioned shoes speak of it.