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The lure of untainted flower, Its sweet perfume encased in a whorl. Alas! That which I await is scarce. This memory will be banished tomorrow. Tomorrow , I must satisfy her. My labour waits for her belly: The weary days The sun The rains of my struggles Bear fruit tomorrow. Tomorrow. She said, “I will come tomorrow” Her many delays must end tomorrow ‘cos her quest for vanities are fully spent. Our wedding shall be tomorrow. Tomorrow, Her lust shall be feted Her feathers of courtship plucked! The downs, I know, shall be not be rubied But tomorrow we shall deceitfully walk to the altar. Tomorrow. I bid you, wait till tomorrow. She goes home now to break her bond With him that was in her dreams only yesterday. I, shall wait till tomorrow To make her drink from her fountain of lust. Her secret desire of a ride to a far country On her lover’s back, a wish not penny can grant. Tomorrow. I must nurture the wounds and scars of another And regret I never made the first cut. Yet, she must do it again as before. But we shall start tomorrow. Tomorrow, She shall dance like a maiden untouched; All her lovers in the pew, Mocking my folly with unspoken memories of their voyages And I, a victim of blemished womanhood, Ready to fool the world in “unholy matrimony.” Tomorrow, When she parades foolishness for fashion Then, call her not my wife. When she fights on the street in rage and fury Oh, call her not my wife. When she slips into darkness to drink from the cup of a rival Please, call her not my wife. When the stench of her reputation chokes the neighborhood Then, remember her not as my wife. When she regales her mates with tall tales to my hurt Please, call her not my wife, When she wraps herself in fineries yet uglier than a mummy Please, call her not my wife, When godliness is exited and the fear of God abolished Please, call her not my wife Think no shame on me Then, when she becomes a Matron over innocent children. But, I must marry Tomorrow Be it for a day before I die.
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