Hannington Mumo Poems

I love things of greater art:
Well-worded poetry like Shaw would write,
Or the superior sonnets Shakespeare Composed,
Generally succulent prose - by a black or white.
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MOI UNIVERSITY, MY ALMA MATER

I miss your beauty and splendor:
The sun that pierces through your greenest trees,
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I read a number of your poems,
One called Song and another Remember;
Never had my nerves been pleasured so;
Nothing had ever so soothingly calmed my temper.
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I stretch from distant shores to far-off climes,
My bounty you cannot measure in a stretch;
So welcome and walk on my belly as you survey
The gems and mementos you may want to fetch.
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Existence is jam-packed with such deadly traps,
You would wonder why its Author made it so;
You never are sure and ever live on borrowed time
For its turns may any time deal you a terminal blow.
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Season after season brings not much change,
As I find myself entrapped within the same odds,
And find life rather dry, and those around still strange;
Still I’m lonely at heart, and inconsolable in the soul.
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Why did you show me just a mere glimpse
Of wisdom and love and then so early took your leave?
It’s sad that your most treasured blood should forever miss you,
So melancholy that it should forever grieve.
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When your appetite falls
And your eyes require the aid of glass,
Feed on this verse instead of pizza
As your sunset hours lazily pass.
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Neither the ornate marbles nor the embellished monuments
Of loot-glutted commanders-in-chief shall outlive this rhyme;
Not the rose-smelling sonnets of William Shakespeare
Nor the natty lines of Edgar Poe and Wordsworth so sublime,
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