Now listen to the tale of papa’s cock,
It feeds on money and not maize.
It’s of a land with gold and silver,
Diamond lives in the land in his tale,
tongues of his voice speak to the
Tomorrow of our ears to its maze.



When this very land displays its sparkling
Moon at the night of its gravel longitivity,
The old women that know of this very humble
abode, testifies of hospitality and peacefulness.
We made this very land pregnant with love.
We made here the lyrics of dignities all over.

In us lies our future of coexistence among all,
Let’s make our shells come by and shade more
light to the dark side of the world with this tale.
A new sighted land tale shall it be when we curl
The future of  thousand stars into this very land,
Stay here with one mind not a broke eyes of war.

As the old one dies, sweet tales of modernity
emerge from the shadow of fainted lips.
The  nocturnals will light the ambience of this
Land without the voices of terrorist attack.
As we wait with our eyes open to Papa’s tale,
Dreams shall come to smile at our troubled mind.

At the feet of this very land of honeyed men,
Father saw a goddess of fruitfulness dwelling.
Values, myths, morals, ethos and heritage of
the land are told with a golden mouthful lips;
Of the heroes and heroines, animals and plants
even canards that once lived here to dine joyfully.

©John Chizoba Vincent
From_A_Pen_Refusing_Frustration

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