February In Igbo
The un-clouded blank sky says it all
As no smile nor anger is expressed above
The withering grasses express the pain
As the foggy air attests to its harshness
The drying streams hope for wetter days
As the birds have to travel far for just a drink
The soil cracks in pains of dehydration
As all await the rains to replenish and reawaken
The rains must come when it is it's season
For that purpose that it will serve in the cycle
The inhabitants of earth must survive and live
To perpetuate the undulating cycle of life
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