Damn you Nightingale!
Must thee plaint ev’ry darling morn?
Hush Hush Away!
Mi son still snore by six upon mi chest
Away away Migrate!
Flee far o’er mi window
For mi son’s pleasure grows height in sports
Ay! Not in music!
Away Away Flee!
Hath is it been thee
Thou wilt murmur with thy awful beak
Away! Sing along the whistling air
Or seek Apollo and be servant
For music thy glorious boon.
©Awuah Mainoo Gabriel
African-spear
No comments:
Post a Comment