The beads around her waist;
Tastes of sweetness on tongues,
Sitting majestically on a throne,
A throne of two seats.
Eyes saw and went sore,
Hand wished and always wished
To touch the hem and be healed,
Teniola’s magical wand.
Suitors came in suits like flies,
Hovering all over her spice;
Some will prefer a leftover,
Raising hands, she turned down.
Her nectar at noon was very full,
Overflowing all over barren soil:
A drop at intervals, drop, d-r-o-p,
Barren soil only plaited weeds.
Teniola slept on floors with sharp claws,
Her seeds got buried in flaws,
Eagles picked them all up,
Her nectar couldn’t fill a cup.
A mat of riches
Transformed to a mat of ditches,
Many holes from many poles,
Teniola slept on bare floor.
*Teniola : An African name (yoruba) which means ‘… a mat of riches.’