Fine bread again from your favorite baker,
Out from my oven- a gift from Rebecca.
Relish all of it, to be a nourished partaker;
A dangerous dream stole my sleep,
While I drawn in a thought so deep.
And I awoke to a voice that still weeps:
"Find my precious scarf of gold,
I have stayed an age in this callous cold.
I plead you restore my glory of old.
Riddle is a bone tied to a dog's back;
He staves like a slave and do angrily bark.
Who can tell what this dying dog lack? "
I tearfully listened like a deaf rat,
sorrow made my soul a sleeping mat,
and fear fed on me, and grew so fat.
"Care for my soul, else I go,
like a woman worn-out with woe,
and till my soil with your thinking hoe.
Around my head is an ebbing glory,
and I'm a pity, in the care of worry.
I plead you revive me, while my will still tarry.
David O. Olusanya
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem