Comfort Ndlovu


The tale is told


The tale is told
the secret is sold,
one's life's on-hold
and I behold
the fool of the Lord
in his clothes old
and in a state so odd
in this weather cold,
he carries a rod
and a paper to fold
and stone to turn gold
and a brick to mould
down the rough road
oh my God!
Passes by a flashy Ford
yet his soul is void
and, oh remember him Lord!
He's barely been bold
and now he's helpless and old
so, let Your Right Hand hold
his brittle bones old
until he reaches the land of Nod
and, 'till he humbles himself
beneath the sod.

Submitted: Wednesday, March 27, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Toil and turmoil in a world of wonder - 'till one bites the dust!

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