The beauty of the African moonlight play had been lost by the advent and sophistication of modern life. We remember the sanctity and the fun of African heritage and culture which we enjoyed in our days as infants and young adults. When we gathered those days, it was story-telling session, it was dancing competition, it was learning time under the African innocent and sacred moonlight. Now, civilization and westernization have strangled and swallowed up the cores and values that made our black heritage unique and outstanding among other cultures, but there are remnants that are still upholding these cores and values in our time. This book is reminiscing our days when we danced, played and learned under the moon. Those days were talent-hunting days contrasted with the hustle-razzle and razzmatazz of today noisy and depraved world. This piece is a combination of stories and poems on love that will liven up your love life. We will learn how the great can be deceived by things or creatures that are despised, we will learn how the elites look down upon the downtrodden and the poor today and how God can exalt them tomorrow, we will also learn that love is not mechanical, artificial, or class-driven; it just happens between two people when there’s an emotional connectivity between them from the stories. The poems below are a few of the poems you’ll enjoy in our moonlight: Mary, Strike your Guitar My Mary is the princess among the virgins Heaven embellished her blood with folklores A living compendium and encyclopedia of arts Mary, Mary, Mary are you a goddess In human tabernacle? Shall we worship you Before we start the dancing tonight? ‘Don’t worship me I’m as human as everyone else But the difference is that the cable of grace Passed through my vein at conception morning Just like it did Joseph and Josephine We know we are talented but strike Your guitar and play your saxophone Your tunes and melody are like None other in this planet and region Will I start with folklores or with my dancing Steps and skills this evening?’ ‘Mary, Mary, Mary, give us your ever-green stories And folklores before your scintillating steps.’ Sun In The Moonlight The bluebirds are coming With their dancing shoes And their trumpets are blaring The village square has been swept By the howling whirlwind Of the merciless and merciful harmattan The palm fronds and pawpaw vegetation Are swaying and bowing, but I don’t know Whether Ngozi, Nkiru and Nneka will come For the moonlight pa