WO (3 february 1995 / lagos)

Beauty Must Be A Bird

Beauty must be a bird, with home in the sky,
Passing the night here and fleeing before dawn.
Flowers and grasses all stand pale and dry
For no dew was sent from above this morn.
The town wake with mournful yawns; hearts flutter,
And lifting their gaze off the corpse that laid, with growls,
Childish faces robbed of tears and laughter
Have no more to give, other than that scowl.
'Twas yesternight you left, dear, how it stings!
There's no sun to stare with a smile from above
And now, everything mortals see, hang trembling
In this ancient land - Land of our love.
Here, clutching the pillow, clutching yesterday,
I feel my cold hands slowly slip away.

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Comments (1)

Longing is agony.This a masterpiece of supreme art.You got the talent brother.God bless.A great read and I'm happy I've seen it.