Last June

Season of bliss; drops from afar pelt greens Wearily grasses splashed and blushed in kins Boring cold canopied the tired halls Curtains of strained times peaked towering walls This ageless path leads everywhere but home Darkened lanes knitted its lenght in loose comb Deeply watching roofs pecked in disarray Through death holes, above vain pits, where dirts lay At the circle of the beaded calabash- Prime of the town; a lord hails with no match His rod longs beyond radius of his sphere His ways are perfect, to whom life is dear Crowned lord of the soil, second to the gods On stairs, where men stares, not step, his throne odds Born in this month of clouds and thrills of rain Skies of gloom enshrouds with chilled wails of pain Evened feelings lacking densed parity Still smile's kernel, shelters crude hope only On nailed grounds, callus knees crawled back and forth Boiling brooding blood blind with discomfort And when june eloped with carved memories Daring showers followed, that bode victories