The mother of them all was blessed.
Exceedingly without any flaw.
Even before the time of her birth,
The rain and storm would not stop.
As a young babe, she was radiant.
In midst of her siblings it was so seen.
She became ignorant like the thunder;
That grumbles without rain,
Atlas she fell so swiftly.
All directions pointed at doom.
The mother could not weep.
As vanity gains never last.
And now she lives in past’s shade.
But for how long will this continue?
In Circles we seem to be in with her.
For it is a pattern that runs still.
If only she could look down.
How can she? It’s heartbreaking in shame.
Her favorite child now a wanderer,
Lost in vanity and deceit.
She may be found in time we pray,
He hopes it’s not too late.
Copyright: Fresh Angle International (www.freshangleng.com)
ISSN 2354 - 4104
Sponsored Ad
Our strategic editorial policy of promoting journalism, anchored on the tripod of originality, speed and efficiency, would be further enhanced with your financial support.
Your kind contribution, to our desire to become a big global brand, should be credited to our account:
Fresh Angle Nig. Ltd
ACCOUNT NUMBER: 0130931842.
BANK GTB.
×
![]()