"O friendly wid,

please tell Felicia, I can't

come home, tonight;

My confidence is surely impotent,

and shall not live on

to the joyous breed of marriage,

shyness does my soul tether

yet it blends senselessness

in my faint-rescuing words,

with a senseless sense

that attempt to save my spirit

from the internal death

by a confession imprisoned

by a forlorn, extrapolating fear

O friendly fog,

surely you can whisper

into Fantastic Felicia's ear,

tell her of my unborn absence

She marries another man,

my eyes cannot live to see it

As I weep dearly,

with a bleeding heart,

my hands turn to dust,

so is my entire being,

there, my past existence

can blend with the sand

and lay there forever."

                                 By Kakraba Afful