A translation of my Afrikaans poem "My mooi vrou".
A sculptor—a Michelangelo or Rodin—
must knead your shape from clay,
cast your impression in copper,
etch your forms into marble,
so that our children
and children's children
and great grandchildren
may admire your place in time-and-space and say:
“I'm begotten from that goddess!”
Someone should paint you. A Klimt or Botticelli—a man
that loves beautiful women—should paint you.
No instant digital photo, no pseudo-iris will do.
The artist must remove his tie when he sees you
and envy me with his stiff brush dripping warm red paint.
... Sanko Lewis