Today I saw a woman plowing a furrow.
Her hips arebroad, like mine, for love, and she goes about her workbent over the earth.
I caressed her waist;
I brought her home with me.
Shewill drink rich milk from my own glass and bask in theshade of my arbors growing pregnant with the pregnancyof love.
And if my own breasts be not generous, my sonwill put his lips to hers, that are rich.
