Any Woman Scorned
Oh, mighty wind
What says your name?
Did you say Ikukuoma?
What a misnomer you have become!
Are you angelic?
For your several deeds,
I have known your trademarks
To brand you with a name mark
Fitting as a fiddle
You are no angel
But a broken mind.
At your outbursts
Sailors are cast overboard
At the loss of your fiery temper
Sailors are buried in a twinkle
In the womb of the deep
Admist claps of thunder
And sounds of fury
Indeed, Hell has no fury
Like a woman scorned.
You are the windy tempest
That uprooted the old iroko
Which you bestrode in a trice
For all to behold and fear
You conspired with your twin sister
That gentle breeze
Whom you coerced
To rid her gentleness
At the altar of your passion
Your proud father: sad old Tornado
Would kiss your angry lips
When you come home to roost.