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They said my grandfather had seven wives,
So came the story of their predated lives,
Their troubles and pains led to his ornamental hunch back,
Resulting to his death from an heart attack,
... Blah blah blah.
They called my father an oaf,
Poor him! He couldn't afford a loaf,
His destiny was surrounded by black birds our village,
He only hoped and hoped till his black bears became grey across his age.
He barely paid half of my mother's dowry,
And hardly had himself to father me,
... Blah blah blah
But this time I chose my path,
I drew my line,
I followed my mind,
To a radiant, like Venus raising from a foam-flecked sea.
With you I want to see years go by,
To you I will sing sweet lullaby,
Only you I would love or go blind
... Blah blah blah.
Balogun David
(drunk🍺Poet 📝)
© 2017

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