Love swells
And portrays
Her voice
Whenever it smells
And betrays
Her choice,

To established a place
For the serpent of love
Is to finish a pace
To repent for prove,

Otherwise, nothing
Can be said right
Without something
Being paid bright,

I think I have found
A love’s stone
But no, it is the sound
Of a dove’s tone,

I need to give
Up this race of grieve
So I can survive
This grace of love,

Indeed, love is not clear
Like a clean glass
But its dead is dear
Like green grass.


© PRINCE NANA ANIN-AGYEI
Email: nanaspeaks@gmail.com