Poem: Hot Winter


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