At the tip of it, there it shines.
The long-awaited nostalgia swings up from down like the crow flies.
The dried okro seed embarks on its journey.
Snaking through the friendly soil.
Knowing its has got a destiny.
A real but churn destiny, I mean.
You are the lantern
That sparkles like sunshine at its core
The Smile that lurchs grieve
When all things seem darker like the bearer of charcoal.
When that feeling clouds the dimple of greatness.
At the of it, there it shines.
You are the cake the beams the face with that extra-ordinary smile.
You’re the spear of hope.
And to you belongs all tears of gold.