Indeed, it was a strange story.
The story of Penny.
She came four times.
She left four times.
Each time she came,
There was joy.
Each time she left,
Each time, she was called Penny.
I knew her secret only on her fifth coming.
Penny was my little sister.
The fourth time she came,
I had stumbled and knocked the candle on her left big toe.
It was a small burn that healed well,
But left a mark.
I knew the shape and site of the mark,
For I was guilt ridden.
Then she left.
It was quite surprising
When the next time mother went into labour,
A girl bearing the same mark was born.
Penny came and left four times after that.
Each time bearing that mark.
Each time she left at the same age,
Two years and three months.
Mother had no more children after that.
Her womb tired and sealed by Penny,
Who visited no more
When mother’s flow dried.
It was a curious tale until I met Abeke,
That we had been visited by an Abiku.
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