With a vision one should be silly trying to match,
Eyes able to three hundred and sixty degrees search;
Scarcely neared and their wings would flutter,
Airborne as you try to a syllable utter;
To at large remain until hit by a smart catapult
Or by disappointing wings that midway propulsion halt.
Not a sensible decision to challenge their tender tunes;
Your best effort to end up in piteous ruins
And have you misreport God’s sharing of the musical talent;
A tight-lipped contention that it is Equity misspent!
Just the inspiration behind man’ flight initiatives
Plus their variations and alternatives,
Scientists only needing to watch them glide
To ably appreciate the significance of spread wings
And how to the sky like a bicycle ride
Or a trajectory thinks up; facsimile of rings.
But where, the hell are the grains in our hill
The rice and sorghum for which planters the soil till?
Unrepentant beaks laying bare an acreage
And an agricultural population driving to a rage;
Your pestering of plants outrival others;
From owners of economic crops taking no orders.
My farms’ stiff instruction is to yield a hundred bags of Rice
Wherefore I should never accept a mere hundred cups,
My millet, a quantity twice if not thrice
And until that happens, nobody sups.
Copyright © Chinedum Ekwobi | Year Posted 2021
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