May Poem Poem by Onyenankeya Nzubejah

The foreign world calls it summer,
We call it dry season.
The most lovely and favoured of all the seasons,
Mild because it is a mixture of seasons.
I love her not because of her countenance, but because i believe that we are what we answer.
Her name is maybell but i prefer calling her may, because i know that she will be lovely like the fifth month of the year which falls in this lovely season.
If i would be back to my mothers womb,
Then i will come back in may,
To hear a bell,
To meet her in may,
And probably write her this poem of mine in may,
And may be one day in may,
She will call me to tell how much she has fallen for my May poem.