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When comes the season

The remains of the sky a-float
That which untrodden under earth engulf
A lurch of hope at least at call beckon
To this day rise on comfy facade of the sun
And bestow breath to the wounded twigs
The meadows shall again be tinted
The tree's pelt shall be chameleon-ed
By the augment of the sky
And the jade leafs shall to the tyrant boss sing the unsung melancholy
What have we against nature?
When farmers leap to glimpse backward on their tomorrows
Weary souls
Personification of dearth
Rhyming lullaby at the twilight
As if the sun to slumber evermore.

The deluge
At which our chattels cart
To divulge poor earth's wretchedness
And then as of the corridors of our essence
We recite the harvests mantra
From splendor in yonder ascension
And once again
The twigs shall bop
To the harmony of singing airstream
And the communal embrace
To the imminent years deepen.

poem by Folayemi Akande
Added by Poetry Lover
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