Minerva in all her dainty, god-like, grandeur failed to walk,
On the slippery inclines you choose to run.
Buxom Efik Princesses turned tail and baulked,
But you bashfully refuse away to turn.
Like Polaris oblivious to the lure of southern skies,
Unfazed by the heady fumes that rise so high,
I refrain in spite of many tries,
From Cupid’s fiery barbs which doth truly fly.
Shall you, o little lady, proceed?
Where others of ilk more intense have floundered?
Shall your sultry charms succeed?
Where others of great skill have turned and surrendered?
Let Time be the Judge if you will titillate
Or else your best charms shall only irritate.