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The green Squirrel

It is a dark race of tall grasses
Filled with the thrilling gift of nature
Dressed with the best cream of hostility
This is the cave of dreaded green squirrel

Groan waves as fresh springs
It spilt vapors of cage blood
He shook and brakes every feather
Leaving many children without parent

Yet the worse is still to be heard
The egg yet to harsh
He is the debris of a lonely night
The fear of great green squirrel

It is an entertainment of two faces
A holiday in the cold forest
A victor of are worship places
Braking film in holy sanctuaries

Men have become best
Houses have also become graves
Songs now in night choir
Human flesh for festive meal

He has an introduction of a strong wind
He hot a market activity at dark hours
He has also changes the thinking of men
Leaving brutality and pains in homes

This is a sharp knife for rising suns
He was brought by the grate sailors
Never is he glorified in clear voices
But has drawn our race to feed in grass

Written by Etebom Ekpo


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