A Timbuktu Peasant From The Street Poem by Mark Heathcote

With bottle tops, a watch strap weaved in her hair
she's an enchantress - she's a Witchy affair.

Her full lips pouting pushed forward, blushed with gold
poorer than a jackal, too proud to be sold.

Eyes full of intrigue; they're the portals to her soul
she's been here before, too difficult to control.

Men kneel at her feet; Kings bow in defeat,
she's just a Timbuktu peasant from the street.

Her allure is regal, pride-unwavering
she won't eat with pigs; her life wants savouring.