Her eyes were on the steam,
that rose from the glass of tea,
in curls like her panic, suppressed,
Her pain smiles.
The balding "boy" stares at her,
and the two sovereigns
of her father's sweat,
that clang on her shivering hands,
And her family home,
built with the toil of a lifetime.
He is now the "rightful heir",
of this much coveted prize,
that came with his permanent slave,
His people had bargained with hers
and settled the amount for the slaughter.
The cow moos in the yard,
And the curls continue to rise
higher and higher up from the glass
held tightly in his hands,
Like dandelions in the summer winds,
and her dreams,
floating far beyond her reach....