OH THE whole worlds come, come all
We fill up the world maritime with soil-
I know that is against natural appeal
Therefore our precious time shall we fritter away;
For where we hollow out the soil from
There shall we leave another sea-
Where then shall we term residence?
But uh humanity come a few, hardly any hands
We lug this edifice down to ground,
And we put a new-fangled one in its place-
I discern that work is trouble-free
For work of the hands of man
Shall never last long into the future,
It can be ruined in a day, any time.
Copyright © HONESTY OIMBO