WHEN YOU SEE MYWIFE, REBECCA by David O. Olusanya
When you see my wife, Rebecca,
Tell her I'm now a baker;
So as to nourish my hungry kindred,
With blue band buttered bromate free bread.
For her memory left me an oven,
Such that made her love well proven;
And this memory is the maker
Of this black bard, busy baker.
My bread is my fine poetry,
Garnished with beauty, like a pageantry.
From it, you'll find ancient wisdom
To furnish you with forever freedom.
Take and eat this bread of life,
For the baker has lost his wife,
When his hands were rudely lazy
And lacked a means to keep his lady.
So, when you see my wife, my Rebecca,
Tell her I'm now a busy baker.
Tell her my bread is sugared and sweet,
Before the sun bakes me on the street.
Such that made her love well proven;
And this memory is the maker
Of this black bard, busy baker.
My bread is my fine poetry,
Garnished with beauty, like a pageantry.
From it, you'll find ancient wisdom
To furnish you with forever freedom.
Take and eat this bread of life,
For the baker has lost his wife,
When his hands were rudely lazy
And lacked a means to keep his lady.
So, when you see my wife, my Rebecca,
Tell her I'm now a busy baker.
Tell her my bread is sugared and sweet,
Before the sun bakes me on the street.
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