By Ola Vincent Omotade
Crouched beneath empty blocks of office
Two wrinkled hands formed of clay,
open the closed sky with gnarled fingers
eyes as beautiful as a Christmas girl's, without gifting, sob
Sometimes i really miss being a kid
Kids know no stress
Kids have no worries
Just a smile on our faces soft as petals of the frangipani,
nature enjoys us as much as her simplicity
But now I am stressed
Occupied with enough worries
And sometimes I look back at the past
And wish I was still in kid
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