When there is an extra day
In February so to say
Disasters comes in the year
With folklores we never lear…

Most business in our world
Comes home with the spoils of war
We rejoice while thanking God
Forgetting we raised our sword.

As soon as the tide and flood
Makes our sail so rough and bad
We often point our fingers
As we cry us a River.

In the midst of our fears
We conceptualize our tears
That they are pricked by bad birds
Making profits on our heads.

And from the spoil of our breads
They flap wings and turn clean
Like vultures that they are
All the way home from afar.

Their sharp ears hear; so we lie
And refuse to knee and cry
Forward gazing from oak trees
They are busy like the bees.

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Onyeche Vincent Onyekachukwu