It is the fire in her eyes ;
And the flash of her teeth ;
The swing in her waist ;
And the delight in her feet.
It is in the reach of her arms ;
The cross of her hips ;
The stride of her step ;
The red of her lips.
It is in the arch of her back ;
The ecstasy of her smile ;
The ride of her breasts ;
The grace of her style.
It is in the click of her heels,
The sway of her hair,
The palm of her hand,
The need for her care.
A woman. Phenomenally.
You should know ;
Just why her head’s not bowed. She doesn’t shout or jump about,
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see her passing,
It ought to make you proud.
Because it is her. Phenomenally.
Courtesy : Maya Angelou

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