The verbal diarrhea of a storyteller
born of a Valley in the Pearl of the Orient
tied to a man of the Pyramids
squatted for a while in the dunes of the Middle East
She can’t dance, she can’t sing, she can’t cook
so she tortures her pen instead
The desert is lovely, dark and deep, but she has promises to keep,
And miles to go before she sleeps, and miles to go before she sleeps.