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
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