PASSAGE

So came the day we were in procession


Of craniums hung, bowed

Watching helplessly,

Our mildewed buds of love, fallen

Like pollen blown

On perched earth, withering

Like a drop of rain in the desert;

Like the hot tears that challenges

A dried and fevered pit

Like seeds planted on burnt moorland

Or process pouring of water to chill a hearth



Here I memoir acting for everyone, left back, you felt affection for.

I pray, like you, it is quite simple:

Crafting it was a delight:



Seasoning, too much seasoning

Had shrivelled our petal,

Unspent, charred ether,

Sprinkling through the acreage alcove

Adieu, Itoya, we miss you like famine:

As when to earth pellet the petchary

As when, the kin’s china is broken;

You, the source of desire was wrenched;

And the Pervading passion of feasting, lost.

Adieu, adieu Alabi Itoya Ejedenawe.

Though your passage was of God’s while,

It was too soon: a li.

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