Her underwear is like Venus-fly-trap
Boys’ even girls are insects
The banquets table never empty.
Her underpants as white as Vega
Attractive special sacred like Veda
Sands of time thus forbids her
Skinny t-shirts, transparent skirt
Aroused a non-wood must surely be
Sands of time says she is death-defying
Her undies as hot as the afternoon sun
Red-chilies; demanding like bitter stout
Many been there like waves and ripples
If only they could speak…
The reverberation of the owls
Are signs of death.