Dedication Poem by Alexander Onoja

With my books I'm armed, and by hunger charmed,
as my stomach cried for need.
The best way to learn is to count from one to ten,
that i did and i tried to read.
Then i heard a yelp, and a cry for help,
coming from an ancient well.
I went through the moat, to meet a dying goat,
then i ran to do the tell.

Its owner came, with a boy that bears my name,
who failed and nursed a huge migraine.
We hailed him 'Onoja! Son of old soldier',
but he tried and he failed again.
I knew without a doubt, we'd bring the big goat out,
but the crowd was not encouraging.
So we suffered heat burn, from the hot yellow sun,
slicing through our chocolate skin.

Our faces frowns, when the sun went down,
as the rain begins to pour.
Some ran away, but a few did stay,
as we were reduced down to four.
The owner was scared, with eyes burning red,
at a corner he sat and shook.
The rope we used, twisted and loosed,
at this he brought a hook.

With shoulders, getting colder, we hoped on Onoja,
who has done it in the past.
He threw the hook in, as we took a look in,
as he fetched the goat out at last.
With my books again, and my stomach the same,
i was calm as i chewed on bread.
With the stress work done, i was left alone,
this time, i read and read.