There in her anguish.
The love immersed in her heart has been relinquished.
This genre of love was gibberish, and her beauty began to tarnish.
The instrument that played the love is gone.
Oh, how she had danced to its lurid blues until she was shattered and torn.
Now she would order glue
Because when she ordered for love she was served “the national cake”
When she ordered for “Ewa-agoyin” she was served “Ewa-agony”
When she ordered for tranquility she was served anxiety.
What waiter could serve this balanced meal of adversity?
While wailing in her pain, she cried and said” what is love? And what emotion can produce true affection?”
Then love walked into her room in his white tunic and red cotton belt strapped around his waist and tied across his chest through his right shoulder.
Love came like a waiter and served her beauty for her ashes.
He took his precious glue, and he repaired her broken heart.
Then love tapped her and said,” I am true love, I would stay and bring light to the darkness in your heart, so you could love again.”
Great piece!