A Poem Without L.

Mighty ones on a weighty height,
As fifty horns in a frosty tight
Upon mountains of fearing peak,
To sip fountains from a tearing cheek.
I have seen what I am yet to see;
I have been where I am yet to be.
When I run as a drifting rabbit
Then I turn to the thrifting habit.


(c) 23-01-2018

by OBIGOD CHIDI CECE

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