I watch them,
Hand in hand down past the scrap yard,
Then up the hill by the river,
Eyes locked in passion,
Hers a shy contented smile,
His an unmistakable boyish conquest.
Hhhmmm……
I hear the murmur of the village women,
The path now leads to different places,
The Rose bush is in bloom,
Quick fetch the elders and pour libation,
There must not be shame in the house.
