And to the springs where I will
I shall wander for decades
Lest my feet be tied to a stockade.
A passerby may say a loon’s atalking,
I will not fall lure to stop walking.
Oh my mother! Tell her not to worry,
I will be home someday, I am so sorry.
Perhaps one day I’ll return home
And for you, mother, build a dome.
But first, the fires of my feet must burn
So the phoenix from these ashes is reborn.
Perhaps one day I’ll till the fields with an ox
Or return to roost with my forebears in a box.
Presently, I must duel with sea pirates
And with the Vikings to recompense the ingrates
Perhaps someday I’ll this song sing
While my children behold tears in my eyes sting
Whether I get to the chest at the rainbow’s end
Pray, Cain’s curse, now mine, and my resolve, bend.
Perhaps, then, your prayers to the Lord
Will jangle this resolve even from abroad
And quench the ache breeding this whoredom –
This intercourse between the shire and the kingdoms!
Written by: Chileh Pedro
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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