Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size But when I start to tell them, They think I’m telling lies. I say, It’s in the reach of my arms The span of my hips, The stride of my step, The curl of my lips. I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me.
I walk into a room Just as cool as you please, And to a man, The fellows stand or Fall down on their knees. Then they swarm around me, A hive of honey bees. I say, It’s the fire in my eyes, And the flash of my teeth, The swing in my waist, And the joy in my feet. I’m a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me.
Men themselves have wondered What they see in me. They try so much But they can’t touch My inner mystery. When I try to show them They say they still can’t see. I say, It’s in the arch of my back, The sun of my smile, The ride of my breasts, The grace of my style. I’m a woman
Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me.
Now you understand Just why my head’s not bowed. I don’t shout or jump about Or have to talk real loud. When you see me passing It ought to make you proud. I say, It’s in the click of my heels, The bend of my hair, the palm of my hand, The need of my care, 'Cause I'm a woman Phenomenally. Phenomenal woman, That’s me.
Very young and very brave for her time New Zealand nurse Isobel Maguire volunteered her services to the Spanish Medical Aid Association; helping the Spanish government and the International Brigade against general Franco was her way of fighting the spread of fascism.
Kiwi Tom Spiller’s experience in the Spanish Civil War
'Man's dearest possession is life, and since it is given to him to live but once, he must live so as to feel no torturing regrets….so he can say, - 'All my life and all my strength were given to the finest cause in the world - the liberation of mankind'.
I just want to believe so bad in the good. But from time to time I take the mirror reflecting those deep dark expressions within. They are so intrinsic to the good by their opposition. I am left to wonder.
Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art — Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature’s patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth’s human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors — No — yet still stedfast, still unchangeable, Pillow’d upon my fair love’s ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft swell and fall, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever — or else swoon to death.