(May 1,1988 / Old Idanre, Ondo State)

An Entrapment

My love, I am tired
With all my being to grasp a form,
Comparable to think own
But nothing seems worthy,
I know now,
Why Shakespeare couldn't compare his
To the summer day.
It would be of crime
To denounce the beauty
Of such a creature as thee:
To simply cast away the precision
God had placed in forgoing you,
Each facet of your being,
Either corporeal or ethereal
Is an ensnarement
From which there is no release,
But I do not pray.

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