© Prosper anuforoh
Listen to the Poem
Though dawn’s lightsome light
Upon all earth’s beauties fawn,
Darkness is never shorn of fun.
A rare beauty spreads her vanilla scent
At dusk Queen of the Night!
Her flower is the rarest crown
Which, in one year, she but one night on
(Light yellow areoles, Whorls of bright white)
In the wake of whose waning beauty, and death,
crawls nascent and chirpy Aurora.
She’s our Lady’s shrine’s shrub
Whose scent will Her fine face ever scrub:
Humble (not proud), mild, is her aura
As she keeps her devotion by Her on earth…