A Woman Scorned Poem by Reginald Ruwende

So the gust raised the dust
It swiftly swept and soughed
Subtly whispered and stirred a fume
Scent of a sent whence I cared not to know

Fiery feisty fireball then crudely pecked the lecherous cliffs
The shrapnels pelted hard
Its like a bolt of volts innumerable,
Thudded against an empire crumbling

The wandering wanderer wondered too
How,
Teed up by a sudden soaring urge
Lost it all in a moment defining

It pounded,
To the rhythm of his strokes on stroke of midnight
Lashes harsh that hush in a rush
When piety pities not the celestial Peter

Dawn dawned,
And so it dawned
The bee that hastily pruned the rose,
Was after just the nectar

It runs in the clan
The phantom of my unmarried scions
Hell hath no fury
Like a woman scorned