She told me the tongue
Is the instrument of the heart
Learn to use it well, for song
And touch, to part and to impart

I tell you this, she said
Because you make my tongue restless
Then I knew what she wanted
A drink of tenderness

Blue was that night
And underneath the mango tree
Me warm me hands in her fireside
She sang of honey

Yet, though she’s melting me, watching me
Still my admiration is voiceless, deadpan
Words of flattery would be
A waste of woman.

– CHE CHIDI CHUKWUMERIJE.