It was the dreary and stormy day
In the eve of my father's demise
But that drill was not right with me
So he cleared the hurdles
And struggled to give us a life.
To pave the way to a sunny times
That ignited our aggression of a greater day
On days that were crystal clear
Like some minacious aggressive test
That pulled the triggers very close
And everyone of my siblings knows the rest:
How after storms come the golden morn
And all that's menace will be history
The journey man knows he must aspire
Whether on the swamps or plain roads
All the dreams that he can't communicate
On a dejectedly forlorn days
About ambitions he hold mostly dear to heart
The events he should deal with right there
Though the menace of a simple dream
Produces the beautiful dreams
And everyone knows the rest is history,
Like the forest knows how to hold trees together
Not because typically grows them
But every specie is oh so strong
And uncluttered to get space to cling to undisturbed
As if to steeds is how it meeds
In all episodes and all the escapades,
filled with midas touch and accolades
Of his adventure and expedition
Plead we the progenies my father's legacies,
Of what must be done not cluelessness,
Everybody knows the rest is history.
Is but a soft after a hard swallow
By approach so sleek and squicky clean
that they reflect his full wishes
Before appalling times wanes its leanings
And the leanings both spiritual and temporal
descending upon all the intents
We can truly see and verily notice
Whether we in Naija or my siblings overseas
To the intent we entertain dreary times
being gone and dusted
Like vanishing winds
Everybody knows the rest is history,
could be failed in a dreary times
Or some other wilderness ramblings,
Like on a stormy and hazy clouds
Which is never what he meant
when my new blossoms are lit golden hills
Like the sunny times'rays
In an unfolding drama strengthening clarity
Of vision but giant leap
That gets us reprieve from his fallen quest
for a blissful life blessed without misery
Everybody knows the rest is history,
how we can't fail the things he intended
without a public basement
To bequeathe golden hills upon his bequest
As we behoove his characterizing intents
Everybody knows the rest is history.
