What is this stream that floods your cannula,
Vivacious lady in sickly cocoon? The pill,
The cream, and the baked powder on your phalanges, are
They turned into three course meal?
Is it true your days are three scores here?
And you fear your three-scores and a decade year
Will clasp in like the tower of Babel?
So you let you spirited smile die like echoes of a bell
Listen! I have some words to tell you.
You will live again, again and again!
My diagnosis says to you, and to you
Is this dose of word: you will live again!
Experience tells me, and my sixth sense says
You doubt my gospel, but you need not.
Though the depth of your grief cannot be touched by X-rays,
I am a specialist who will heal your rot
No stethoscope, for you need it not
But I give you love-you are starved of it
Ten doses, twenty-four seven heals your rot
Lady, you are loved far more than ordinary beast
See, I have implored the planets of nine
The coldest Pluto, and the hottest Mercury
Not to hinder this rising sun of mine
Sending you love in bundles, displacing your worry.
This sun is risen over the Orient with healing
Alas, the clouds of love is precipitating
And a thrilling sensation will sweep all scars
You will rise in quantum leaps to Leo’s stars
Johnson Oyero 