Black

The woman’s voice laments

Clothed in  misery

It is but a sorrowful dirge

Somewhere above ,a raven calls –

Spirits long forlorn


Dark like Onyx, she stands straight and tall

Precious and prime

Her black beaded crown candescent with power


It wraps around your form

A sophisticated and rich look

Hot and sassy – you say

That little black dress never fails

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