As howling gale of recession blows,
The butterflies drizzle out of their tracts,
To unknown destinations.
They are harshly beaten,
By the wind of lack.
Yesterday is today,
Today is tomorrow without bread.
Lifeless promises without fruits,
And salt in our amora soup.
When will promises produce good fruits?
When will the butterflies come home smiling?
When will love rule
Actions of men?
Dances Odu Songs.
(C) Umar Osabo