The sacred home of all birds,
Where the eagle fly higher in length,
The parrot gives out its all round poke-
nosing news around the fainting world;
The goods, the average and the bad,
All making our evening news
in a mixed-up mood.
Its fruits are appealing to all creatures,
And its broad leafs formed a shed for the
tireds.
Underneath; sons and daughters of Ogun
throating palm-wine with kola,
Threading-out songs of oral from four
corners,
All in the heaven of gyration.
With the calabash of the poor-man
banging his teeth, he sees no sorrow,
As an emotional grin rob-off his pain.
The widow shrugs off loneliness,
dancing to the sonorous voices of menly men that mould her mood.
The barren feels no shame;
As hundred hands paint many children;
making a black child a child for all.
Lives on the street; the lame, the blind
And others have a place of abode.
All in the heaven of gyration.
In cycle;
We palm-wine drinkards gyrate happily,
Without enmity of race,
Making one for us one for all,
With a sense of brotherhood,
Just because we palmly tied under the tree of mercy.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem