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By Adeola Ikuomola
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I cannot remember mankind singing for old December Or clapping for the best performing youthful January

The vibrant sun displayed her glamorous glory in vain The rains with their record breaking floods left empty

There are no wings for the wise wingmen to soar high No muscular storms to propel the green eagles in flight

The voicemail of the roaring lions have been deleted No swarthy clouds for triumphant thunder to celebrate

No mirror for the old pilgrims to measure their wrinkles Or beam of light on the paths of the adventurous youths

There are no more depths for sharks and whales to court The flooded forests mock the drowning lions and tigers

There are no more hymns for the holy men and women No righteous rate for the mansion built on righteousness