Toheeb Tiamiyu Poems
Whirling from the west,
Madly running without rest,
Sharply, all vests abreast.
Windvanes runs out to the test,
The wind is truly from the west.
As the wind sweeps along the paths,
Like a king trees bow as he pass.
Is this arrival not a world class?
Every lass the mighty tree has,
Falls as the wind proves his class.
The pregnant cloud takes her form,
Saying the pregnant cloud is set to born,
Once again a very mighty storm.
All white and yellow to black they turn.
Thence comes that heavy thunderstorm.
Darting in and out, ...
Eighteen years I've lived
And unto my family I've cleaved.
Without any regrets
Other than my regrets.
Could we possibly turn the hand of time?
And if we did, will we lose a dime?
'Cause I want no more regrets
Than my regrets.