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For this grace I admit
a sanguine vulnerability,
my heart bestows upon might,
a bow at her beck and call
what want so formidabble, such as this
can make me look into eyes
with the adventure of assuagement
The foolishness that is loyal to wisdom,
the pride that distinguishes humility,
so speaks my heart,
as I hold the hands, divine,
and praise and worship
the mist that makes me glitter in glamour
my mind that not wish to exculptate
this happy, silent surrender,
by so speaks my heart
it seeks to pacify those eyes,
that hair,
that glorious monument of peace
that stands before,
surely the one, I have fallen for.
By Kakraba Afful
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