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Were all we heard and all we saw
Of brothers, now dead and gone
Groan we, wail we, in gruff voices
Their ears though flow above the watery noise
Our votes, the seed, their baskets hold
And yet they harvest in our stead
Galled, we gullibly thought, of trust akin
Bereft of thoughts of truthful ones
The leopard never mutates its skin
Now, to whom should we our face to turn?
Written by: Adesina Collins Dhonphonie
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
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