It’s way past midnight,
All decent men safe in their homes,
The hour is rife for drunken brawls and fistfights,
In the alleyways only trouble and evil roam.

I walk the cobbled roads, tired but conceited,
No goal in mind; lost and sleepless,
My brazen knife in my breast pocket, still unsheathed,
I wander the dark, alone and heedless.

When my startled ears, pick a voice so sweet,
More alluring than a nightingale song,
My legs comply, while my brain warns of wile deceit,
Is this a calypso, or a hapless maiden lovelorn?

The ghetto streets I walk, tunnel magically into a Babylonian garden,
She turns around more beautiful than life, this ethereal maiden,
And gently lets her black hair down, off fly a thousand raven,
Carved with perfection, looking at her is divine, it’s salvation!

Who are you? What magic, what witchery? Pray tell me?
She opens her mouth to speak, I am entranced,
Her lips are blossoms, and her eyes a shimmering blue sea,
“I am sun, moon and stars.” And around her a hundred peacocks dance.

“I made you and all of this mankind.
This land that you walk, the wine you drink, the air you breathe,
Is mine. Yet you forget me; your soul? How foolish. How unkind!
You destroy, defile me? I am Nature. Your mother divine!”