I dream I’m leaving
Not in haste or any strain;
Life I know, is an art of weaving
And winnowing of holy grains.
This glaring path has me poised
Upon the needle’s agile head…
And my words, all composed
Of songs and ditties yet unheard.
If I should proceed to snuff the flame
Or pick all roses within my frame -
Leaving nothing for heaving ones
Who in their muddle,reach for doves
What would the rainbow say?
"Surely my dear, you must stay'!
By
Hope Kalé Ewusi ©
