She saw a hunter resting in the forest
His manly shoulders
Caused the trees to heave
In expectation –

She ruffled the leaves of his hair
Placed her hand on her heart
As she read his rising thoughts
He had been waiting for her.

Tremble not, lovely maiden,
Stretch out your hands and pluck
My golden fruit
For it hath not ripened in vain

This forest whispers
Told me you were
Coming…
The hunter hath found his mark.

The queen of hearts
Has met her match.
Black grass will quiver tonight
But the forest will keep our secret, my dear.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije