'Behold A Great Tree Has Fallen'

Behold, a protagonist breathed last
A fallen tree that cannot be re-planted
Alas, this is melanholic
For the caring father has gone
To abide in his permanent habitat gone to his home
The well deserved rest.

Something goeth wrong my people
Something elegiac goes beyond shedding of tears
Though unarguably, no one
Could fight fate when it was unfolded
For this has been predestined
By him that created the universe.

Dekko the birds, singing elegy
All singing songs that expresses melancholy
Perched precariuosly on the oil palms
In sober moods
They betrayed their bitter desires
In the obsequiese of the great protagonist.

Behold, sorrowful legs filled the street
Many trees weeping bloody tears
Birds avoid nestling
Behold snails hibernating
Women experiencing miscarriages
When this tragedy was let out.

Behold a rabbit in the midday
Alas the trees in prime shed of its leaves
The souls of the mourners
Kicking one feet with the other
Bereaved mouths singing elegiac songs
Oh creator! this is unprecedented
For this eternal departure hurt we the descendants.

Oh ye slumbers, this is regretable
A vulnerable episode
Told among the sympathizers
Paying condolent visits with pure obessance to fate
All in the souls of the bereaved
Everyone caught gnashing and groaning.

Ye men of sympathetic stand
Arise, emulate the defunct pathriach
For the day is knocking at one's door
Everyone to lie down and would decline in the morning stars
Behold the mission is acomplished
Several years spent in total respect to his creator
He has lived a live pool of hospitality in his contemporary days.

Oh! God Had we but world enough and time
After the emergence of one in this world of variance
We could have held him tight
Ipsofacto His creators are mortals
Who have happy and sorrowful life
But we know to vie with the mightiest is a waterloo
We say this is coherent with his fate.

Rise up ye men of slumbering hearts
Fortify thy nation against devilish attacks
Sleep in the toe of the nightguards
Be vigilant like a wathdog
For your enemies are wathing your infirmities.

Enough of this melancholy my people
Though the birds has flown
His destination is sure
The right hand of the great one
To home the well deserved rest.

by Israel Dammy Ipaye

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