Azar-Yahu Poem by Yewande Adedokun

Blow till thou burst thy wind, if room be enough
Yet loose not thy smell to me as passion hangs these weights upon my tongue

Against my very heart, poor souls on thee perished
Thine proper presence as destinies of Hercules

Dear Esdras! How it gives me grief to see thee wear thy heart in scarf
I brook when 'e'er' it still sticks my heart

Ye stood the test of trials of love strangely
And hath put the wild waters in roar allay justly

'Tis all one, no ambition to see a goodlier man
Hence bestir, I prithee Esdras
Till I am well breathed unto thee in grace
I am a wench standing for my credit unto race

To-morrow is a joyful day, when thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love
Till ye justly reach the foil against thy emulators

I wait the wills above be done