Poem by Rhoda Adinoyi
FATHERS OF MEN- PLANT TREES, FOR THOSE NOT YET BORN
The sun no longer strive to melt man
Yet, dancing on the brink of realness
We perish the greens
We are afraid of death
Yet, we do not bat an eyelid
When we clean bare the field
Why! The trees trauma from overt lesion
Why! The birds and storks who ingrained their shelters on trees languishes
Why! The timberland mourns
Why! The leas grieve
The field is atrophied
Joy fly the coop from the sons of men by the fathers of men.
The teemimgness of presence,
The ancestral memories,
The cool shadows from the shady trees and colors of the forests,
The body and spirit of man weakens.
Angels are Ireful,
While the heating star guffaw at our fooldom
The birds have evaded, since no one could answer the WHY
Sons of men, call a solemn foregathering
Forward be our glances cast
Never to be rude to nature
Tell it abroad, Sons!
For we no longer cut trees
But nurture, for our day be long with lasting breath
When the sun burns, we may find solace
Under the branch of trees
With hopes of pressing on.
Fathers of men, plant trees…
For those not yet born…
|Say yes to Forestation|
Letter from the Rhogerians.