Her Bracelets

She called on me from a white chair
Where the light came into the room
On her wrist swung her fine bracelets,
Colored in an Indian style.

Her bosom rested pleasantly
Her hips were like a wool blanket
She gave her child a doll with a
Graceful, black beak made by her mom.

She took the doll of a sparrow
That she placed on her lavish hips
Everywhere and she soiled it,
Then cried on it, her favorite toy.