An African drum throbs from a distance.
It is heyday and there is rejoicing.
But ululations surround me suddenly, and tensions
Climb gently the steps of a dancing heaven.
As my lobes grow softer and my hair stands
On the grounds of love,
I sense the throbs on my hollow soul,
Near, yet so far, for the wretched wench
Whose sweet eyes I have descried yonder.