On top the grass not producing air
The weather changes to attract the fear
Over to the root that lacks the seed,
Merely condemn the vibes to build.
The fields not like the weight fright
Unlike the colour that wasn’t vibrate
The young shall grow with their path,
Upon the source partake in life site.
Where are the soul that wry to taste?
The plant that doesn’t made sound nor paste
It was down to shown the plight of vibes,
Neither to give warm to the grass & roots.
Hamzat Habibullah Ejidamilare
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