Her furrowed brow can’t feed
The saplings to their fill
Anymore, because of our fathers greed.
The milk of succor their roots can’t find in her brow,
That required nutrient for survival.
Man made nature his arch rival;
We plundered rather than plow,
Hence, heaven is bestowed on us beatitudes of consequence.
No tree for shade,
No wood for warmth,
No elixir poured-forth
From the veins of the leaf blade.
But shall we sit back and die of lack,
Paying outrageous interests
For borrowed capitals of shady deals which our fathers did invest?
Nay! I say No!
No more shall we the retributions of their sins harvest.
Therefore, from this curse to break free, each one surely must plant a tree.
We shall plant them on the loam of our hearts,
Let the weary seedlings of faith find therein supple foam,
A bed of rest for new starts.
Nature again must become our home,
So with her we re-establish our romantic pacts.
Yea, we too shall plant trees,
In our hearts fluttering branches where lovebirds can nest;
There, where sweet combs can shelter honey bees,
O I can’t wait to reap the bounty of this new harvest.
Sponsored by: Sir Eriata Oribabhor, ANA Abuja Chairman
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