Jazz This Poem by Madrason .

That stoic priceless woman
oh boy can she grow a man
magical tunes and words
and conscious imperfections
and dusting off the sleeping
wings of tired birds as she sings
a grown up lady playing child
a decent woman growling wild
yes my roots are Africa
and my mum's from Havana
I am your girl and preacher-man
taking the train trough time
sucking you into that chime
cry and hate and contemplate
and don' t you hesitate
to love me good……..
as a true man should! M