On The Morrow

On the morrow


This day is spent, it was spent.
The days were spent, not hasetly,
The days were gone the unforgettable days-
In life time, just the worst days.
May this memory not be green from infancy.
The days were cruel, alas! this is a melancholy
Days spent behind in darkness, tell them, tell them, my people-
No days ahead is worst than this, I have sourjoned in this land-
From embryo, I have lived in this wilderness men call life, I have
Suffered in your hand this land our land.the rain has beaten me
In the night and sun has beaten me in the day
But I have not cursed my days, not that I know my future is bright
not that I know I am down in your hand but one hope as sure as
the death our death,
Come rain after a clowdy weather, come resurrection after death.
now on the morrow shall our pain be spent when our joy comes-
like a thief in the night.

by ipaye olawole peter

Other poems of OLAWOLE PETER (13)

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