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WOE! TO THE WEEDS ON FIELDS by Olajide Teniola

Woe! To the weeds on fields
For their days are numbered still

Woe to he weeds on fields!
For they daily strive with planted seeds

Their end will be without glamour
For theirs s a life without glamour

They hypocritically preach the “change” sermon
But they are the ardent “corruption” demons

Their hands are swift to raise placards
Not an iota of care for the poor nor the sad

They wore garments and raiment of white
Their inner selves is a stinking, stench-filled sight

Sprouting everywhere, making a waste
Of lands fertile to plant maize or hay

Woe! I say to the weeds that believe still
That the planted seeds will be sacrificed in the field

When hewn and dried, these weeds
Will be offered as a burnt offering

Their ashes will not be scattered on rivers
But trodden on by wife and kids of the farmer

There will be no memorial for their existence
For theirs is a life of recalcitrant indulgence

Woe to the weeds on fields!
For their days are numbered still!

WOE! TO THE WEEDS ON FIELDS by Olajide Teniola


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