Wuraola, it is not your fault that you left,

that you sought after greener pasture,

and left my Paul for Thessalonica,

I won’t blame your guts my love,

who prays to love in poverty,

and romance in abject lack of wealth?


A man is a man,

so our said,

while I ran errands for riches,

and beckoned the call for wealth,

there, doubts approached you.

I know my woman’s strength,

Like Romans 8:35, my love for you,

can’t be separated by any disappointment.


Wuraola, like I said in the past,

love knows no hurt,

love sees no pain and records no crime,

true love measures not with vengeance,

love sees only what it desires to see as love,

I am Begiola, my arms are open for you,

Wuraola, when shall I meet your father?



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