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THE AFTERMATH.
Now that her spirit will not rise.
The corpse in her prays now a bearer
Tears relentless kiss the cliff of her feet
As she intrudes a past too sour to eat.
Hers is a mouth that holds nought
Hers, a heart which checks no motion.
Now that both to her belong,
To whom will she the blame apportion?
O.O.Oluwole.
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