Atinuke......
your sun is yellow,
rake the field,
tomorrow might cloudy.

Atinuke....
your spring is here,
nurture the greened leaves,
tomorrow may be a winter.

Man comes and goes,
men are inpatient visitor.
Iya Asaka, Iya Abike, Iya Atinuke,
all lost to shaded motherhood.
Drink from river past,
Atinuke.

Atinuke......
the wildcard every gentleman
lusted to play.
A suitor of hundred men.
Your bosoms firmed with seed,
your rose lips
are a goblet that drunk men,
your curved
backside shames motherhood.

Atinuke....
merry thy prime
when motherhood is not yet around
Nurture thy spring leaves,
tomorrow may be a dry winter.

#soulPoet
06-01-19. Winter