Oh Lord O Mine.
Hear me, Dear Lord, Oh Lord O mine
For thousand web has locked the loom
and Nation's bread is as from kine
and we sweep with a stick of broom.
The wall has heard yet collapsed not –
Hence, the ear at home and of farm
hast falsely fooled us. What will not
will not, but this is yet our farm!
We pick a stick of broom to sweep
yet pick we litter from soiled soil,
What feed upon a host but sleep? —
Even dream is a stream of oil.
Hear me, Dear Lord, Oh Lord O mine,
For, what have we; what do we have?
Our fertile farm is fallowed, Yea
hast it like a sour Oguro.
Hear me, Dear Lord,
Oh Lord, O mine.
lead to one plot...
Akinwale Peace Akindayo