JEFFREY MANE FEBI

An entry in The Crocodile Prize
Kina Securities Award for Poetry

In a white robe, at my door she stands
Don’t want to mess up, still she demands a glance
It’s hot in here, cold out there
To turn or to burn, I have to decide
She awaits, offers a chilling embrace
Silence of her chill hovers ever closer
A vast blanket! Ghastly white!
It's hot in here, cold out there
Her chill is pure for sure
Tonight she offers a chance, must make a stance
Surely heavenward she rises in the morn,
And I can’t to heaven rise at dawn,
To turn or not to burn, I have to decide
Blinded by firmness of her whiteness
Oh Moran, you moron!
In a white robe, at my door she stands
While the aircon unit slumbers into a coma