written by: Sunny Eddie Crawford
I clashed with my skiff memory,
One wrestling sunny day.
Under a tropical shade,
Waving country plum trees,
Of many Liberian imaginations.
Most likely a narrow place,
For me to rest my thoughts,
Create impressive thoughts,
Out of thoughts,
Of a girl who dotted down,
Dugout of fear,
Caged my dying heart in ecstasy.
Sketch out her undiluted beauty,
Printed her unfaded golden portrait,
In a silver blossom colored wax,
A wooden frame of beautiful art,
My wind searching eyes,
Raced after in Monrovia.
Her big round blue eyes,
Beautiful as the blue lake,
Magnifies the Liberian setting.
Hair, curly, soft, and black,
Like a day-old banana leaf.
Her melanin-charcoal skin,
Smooth as the coastal beaches in Kakata.
A tender feature,
Of an African orchid.
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