Mosi Mustapha Gomina
Onto the cradle of mortal sleep;
that ye may from unconsciousness, sip;
I bid thy young prying eyes goodbye;
lest my cold voice to silence, is tied.
Twinkle, ye stars of the mystique sky;
cry on, ye crickets, I bid you cry;
lay upon Earth, the radiant shy light;
let thine voices quake the glittering night.