Twelve Poem by Vincent Onyeche

The trees in a dream called it self no-hurry
With pains in my head I woke up so early
Sixteen on the years twenties were once a fairy
The day seemed bitter at same time scary
Don't get me wrong it was sweeter than a berry.

All from a native land of Kings to me, she sail
In her attires was an impression that don't fail
She and I together is like a custody and a bail
Time was fast at same time behaved like a snail
Jailed in sweet surrender, a chair and its nail.

On a black four legged white virgin horse
I piloted her to a humble forest for us
Loins fell asleep; as she trembled on green grasses
More valuable than a stone, uncommon senses
No love is fake, is a twelve digit for remembrance.