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A poem for Ovim, Isuikwuato
Morning wakes with the sun Windy clouds, happy yawns Quiet town, down the hill Misty paths, birds sing With the forest’s inhabitants
Tall palm trees stand guard From their branches, birds sing Squirrels look down in fright or excitement Dropping oily snacks on trespassers Forest pathways are hijacked by monkeys Protesting when a group of boys trod by
Happily, mornings start with simplicity For
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the thing is, i'm used to you leaving
Maybe Ive Just Made Myself Amune To How I Feel About You.
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