Read Time:27 Second
I sit speechless and shirtless
Goosed and tucked in,
Talking, thinking and blinking
At my father’s contoured bank,
Near a shoddy river bank,
Blacked and backpaged beyond taste.
Not some myth of herbal paste.
Beside the cheerful weeds
The careful weaver weaves.
Above the carbon-hated figs
The weaver sings and gigs:
Twinkle, twinkle little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Written by: Ayiba Tare Ojukonsin
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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