Semolina

Semolina

Semolina

Semolina

Loves the seashells

At the shore she

Loves the seashells

She can see the silver

Sometimes shining on the sea

Reflecting from the flying fishes

Wishing she could be

A little piece of sand that's blown

Above the ocean's breeze

But all she has is thoughts of all

Those fingers peeling seeds

And leaving them to mold among

The women watching weeds

Semolina

Semolina

Semolina

Loves the seashells

At the shore she

Loves the seashells

Semolina

Semolina

Semolina

Semolina

Semolina