MAHAMMA ADRIANNE Poems
With all the good things it boast of
And the abundant bread loaf
Stinks it of underhand
Preying on someone else’s hand
Weakness of persons it capitalize
To rob them of what they maximize
The goody is not in my account yet
Perhaps it is with one who will take account
Despite the odds, thou shall strive aught
To be firm on thine road not trot out
What Am doing is for all and sundry
But the almighty minority desire to monopolize the day
“Thou art growing a wild bush?
Thou mayest not contain wild life.
The bush hath sentiments.
Phobia of a people,
Who are great?
The bush is depressed,
Demented and grayed.
Poetry is an insignia of intellect.