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The days of clay plays
I built a house for my father
To lay his head for ever
Then, life was like bread and butter
With a cup of tea to make it better
A bed of blooming roses
Where excitement never seizes
Like the Eden of old
Where all glittered like gold
But now I live on the street
With no sandals for my feet
Tattered clothing
As my covering
And no room
To hunt for dreams
And my father
Waits further
For a dream
That has gone dim…
Written by: Oku-ola Paul Abiola
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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