I had some nightmares yesternight
A muse came to my humble abode
Seeking after a scribbling quill
I wouldn’t have allowed her me seduced
But if poetry obeys the laws of prophesy
What power does the poet really possess
Let it be known these are not my words
But of a muse that rides, day and night
Around the shores of our fatherland
The muse said something I’m afraid to say
That if indeed Master Coro was not around
Our panjandrum, the Mallam wouldn’t have died
You might not understand, this isn’t easy to say
But I now fully comprehend why our misleaders
Never trusted our own uncomfortable sick beds
And as before master Coro graced our blessed shores
The doors of the metropolis were to our jefes ajar
So, often and on they rented their doctors and beds
But since he decided to among us pitch his tent
All the metropolitan hospitals have closed their doors
Forcing our princes to rent the beds of our dying homes
Copyright: Alisonomi2020
