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