The soul of a Black Woman is strong like the desert wind.
Like the Pyramids of Giza and the Great Sphinx,
it has become weathered, but will never be worn. 
Her spirit remained whole when her body was taken
and her heart has withstood the test of time.

The soul of a Black Woman is forgiving like the gentle bends of the Gambia.
Her faith allows her to see good where only evil reigns
and to pray for the wicked hand that strikes her down.
She is able to move seemingly unmovable mountains,
For she has found great power in a prayer and a song. 

But the soul of a Black Woman can be fragile like petals of the African Violet.
Devastated by time and carelessly discarded,  
the Black Woman's heart bleeds over the plight of her people
and it hopelessly wrenches over generations bought and sold.
Her timeless tears could overflow the banks of the mighty Nile.

Yet the soul of a Black Woman is ferocious like the African lion.
It is bursting with the will to live and the natural instinct to survive.
The Black Woman is creative out of necessity-
history has made her wise and she improvises,
making a way where others see none, a path where others find none.

The soul of a Black Woman stands tall like the Obelisks.
It is a priceless and cherished treasure; an ageless, timeless wonder. 
It is the foundation upon which many great nations rest. 
Her shoulders have borne the burden of an entire race
and from HER womb sprang the children of the world.

Many marvel at her inner strength and want to make her their own,
for she is refreshing, like cool water in the dusty, dry Sahara.
Yet she cannot be possessed by anyone and her soul has never been for sale;
she gives it freely, because often, that is all that she has. 
But what a precious gift it truly is....the soul of a Black Woman.