When dusk hastened to open it's door
When heavens pour light on it's steaming floor
They were, my love, at our Beck and call
And listened dutifully as our last words fall
Even now dawn seem asleep
And slumber away till it's duty keep
Or our bedly thorns, their edges
Wake and keep our rest and sleep abridged
They still are, my love, at our Beck and call
But they listen now to our love that falls.
Kristen Tochukwu Onuora
Writes under the Monika
Nwa okike.
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