Lo, to and fro I play around the trees
Somewhat like a wayward bird,
Flying to no destination as though via the seas
But still, I try not to lose my gird Lost,
I count as my lot as such flight
‘cause my wings fail to serve as my pad
Though filled with hope to the bight
And the hot winter has always made me sad
Like the spring, I sprung from my slumber
With the glorious flutter of an amazing bird
in a flight amidst the snowy trees, in their number
Thus, fleeing away from the ambers, so dread
Now, out of the huts of my fears I now emerge
Squelching my winter dread mingled in a mire
Standing now at the rostrum of a world at large
Fessing up a need, seems hot but, so dire
By Benedict Onyeso
