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Six years on foot
Through far and hurdling paths like wilderness
My secondary learning root
Which taught me to taste and endure bitterness
Oh my brain of rational thoughts:
In the mornings it felt cold but fresh
And in the noons hot but full of competence
Yet I in wisdom remained afresh.

My shirt white was not as it was
The trousers blue-black could hardly its colour survive
Of them were made other fashions
And the prescribed white shoes to serve—
Pedestrianizing both on rocky roads and tars,
Loosing its first fine form gradually—
I should always to say thanks and sorry.
We Trinitarians were a mere picture of the colonial missionaries.


In school we lunched our books
As we were often empty-in-pocket:
We would go hungry and return angry
Battled we with school's ups and downs
Nothing to better to eat
But either drank groceries,
Or fill our stomachs with water from the bloody tap
Those days were best but not happiest to us.


The school Holy Trinity would never be the weak's
For only the strongest could survive;
Some would exit or fall out
It'd always be the best
Entity of extreme excellence
All boys sound and brimmed!
Catapult of coiling character
All boys virtuous and righteous!
Today, we are proud alumni
Eligible to rendering to our country services
To prove that we did learn from the school.

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