Last Drop To Dry Season Poem by Tlou Romeo

The pride I saw on the face of the man that held the casket of the deceased, send a cold shiver to the comrade's voice as he mourned with struggle songs, next to me he sat. Then I realized the duty within the colour of the man's badges, in a small print it is said, hero's die and legends live forever. In the deceased name legend is pronounced, but within the casket lies a hero of many hearts. Onto his face came a pile of soil claiming it's son. Oh Madiba! , only now I've just started to appreciate. Ma ebuye e Africa, as the clouds started to give way to rainbow. So many can be said, never can it be left to say it's up to me now. With a drum beat, I sit in prison of my wrong approach to democracy and craft a praise for the last drop, then I may know a hero becomes the legends and legends were born off a heroic. Tata, If it were to say, libambe linga shone. The sun set on harvest.