I was told you’re the dreams of the night-
The first one little babies have when they smile away
as the breeze breath so low
And there’s no glimmer of light,

You’re are the àwùjè on omo òojó’s
Middle head,
The spot that beats softly as they sleep.

You’re the faint silent stream on
Mother’s cheek, which flows freely
When the nurse said;
‘It’s a girl ‘

The clouds of joy that assembles
To rain the fulfillment of joy,
The faint scent from the flower field
And the only pink apple in brother’s chest.

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