They

You Poet

I can imagine you walking along side the boulevard
all alone, in the lap of nature,
which does each one of us nurture,
to the quietude of some symphony
in the far off distance,
perhaps Nigeria,
playing a tune of dismal melancholy,
awaiting the snowflakes to melt
upon your shoulders
as others all slumber in peace,
within their cozy comfy vaults
and
dreaming of what looks outside
like a storm,
as you traverse in real form.

Silently playing a flute,
a mouthorgan
or a distant imaginary trumpet,
hoping to eventually become
the Prez
Some day God willing

And You Poet

Your symmetric machine
has unfortunately become asym….
sad,
but the nerves you still show
makes much of you
the music
silent though,
comes through my deaf ears too.
As we age
the toll of time does page
and
on every leaf of day,
some marks it does display
yet somehow you have the strength to relay
how you could traverse the day.

Many more sunrises shall come your way
this alone,
Loved can say.