It was getting dark , that failed Friday,
As we gathered our herds,
Upon completing the afternoon fight,
The Bull fight,
By the village Well-side,
With Kafiti,
The Village Wag,
Down in Kebicere,
Where frogs
sang in unison,
Tugooga Tugooga,
All day and night along..
But there was a male voice,
Among the frogs,
Often out of rhythm
,
Interjecting as though in protest,
But perhaps to protect,
The territorial prefecture…
Then, there, down and across the valley,
Lived Kamurari,
The Lingerie merchant,
Revered for his prowess,
And known often to win,
Most women in his cross..
With sweet words,
A word-smithsonian
This lingerie merchant!
The blue, thinly netted,
Then the pink with side strings,
Dangling by the sides,
Then the white cotton fabric,
Yet, averred the light-blue,
Which he nuanced ,
Made him see the blue moon
Every lingerie,
A love manifest..
Yes, like that love,
Once in a blue moon..
Like Kafiti the Village Wag..
