What Love! Poem by Barnabas Markus Atsen

The sycamore an iroko wood is,
To gaze at him I climbed;
'Thy den I'll go! ' said he.
I felt joy, I smiled, I laughed;
And off we went, both in boat.

At us, the storm stroke strongly
My heart - I was weeping out.
But from sweet sleep he woke;
'Look! The waves, the wind,
With ears open they obeyed him, ' shouted I.

I had fate but whereabouts
Of my faith inquires he.
He welcomed me in my den,
My feet he bathe clean.
I said, 'No.' 'Yes, ' he said.

Guiltily the deptor - I,
Wept his feet with tears,
dried them with my hair
And alabastered them;
For in me, life was dead.

But hate had not he
That died the dead of his fellow:
He gave me life - I gave him death,
And when dying my death He said;
'It is finished.'