When we still played our little Love game
we hid at needs and ran from fame
it eclipsed our heart
and saddened our art
Time we grew little stones on our skin
while we ran into tiny holes of sin
we were different fields that attracts like magnets
gradually creating our love bird story nest
And so my last line went off rhyme
same as our flare brightens and dims through time
so fair now that our presents gone rude
coupled with our minds gone nude
A ngozi from the blues
a blessing of so many rules
your pointed sweaty nose I'll always moo
till our days part my runaway boo
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem