We met her moving, walking lonely,
In the woods,
All in her moods,
Her pretty face covered in a hood,
The woman mingling the millet,
Picked some firewood,
As she exhaulted the rarest skill,
In praparing this delicious food..
We, quickly, fell into the mood!
Then the stout beareded boy,
With a black subaru did hoot,
That kind of annoying hoot,
Like an owl begining to hoot,
My foot!
I hate owls,
Walayi,
I saw one at Nyungu Yamawe,
Chilling Yamawe!
For when my late sister passed on,
That night, it begun at 3am,
In the Nsasa or Mushasha tree,
Behind our old home,
Until, when Kakwitsi,
Our village dog with a long mouth,
Administered a serous bark,
Back to back,
Almost drawning his lungs,
We woke up and threw ten stones,
And seven short sticks,
As it drew and flew away,
Again hoot after hoot,
This harbinger of death!…
We again connected,
A beer or two,
Some whisky to whisk her away,
Until when some beareded boy,
In a red short, and sharp shoes,
Appeared and picked all the drinks,
Swearing all will be said and done!
Baffled, i recoiled,
Like Kafiti,
The Village wag.
