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AFRICAN ORPHANS






By Ola Vincent Omotade

Once we were shadow to the rain
Wonders perched in our eye interior
I guess I got a painting for every song sung wrong

You'd say its what's done with the night
You'd say time is a panorama of itself
So somehow, I plead hard to get this from me
And this halts the nightly squander in the cozy of an adulterer,
Meddling as been middle stroked with fingers

Country lassie! here stands chemistry
standing before you in suave Italian shoes
Here stands
In the mist of himself
With smiling lips and a bouquet of tulips.

Silver mirror for graceful silhouettes,

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