ENOCH AANU OJOTISA
In Your Arms Again.
Truly I am no different from the other.
But you shaped me like a porter;
You raised my eyes to yours in the night of mood;
Though the day was crude;
For only a saint might have conquered that hour,
The hour of a woman's power…
That it might come to past,
So we glued our tongues to last.
But what profit has it brought?