As a man leads his favorite oxHe leads him with a rope His heart cries out withinLike blind bats flying from the skyHe flies with himA shoulder so big ne’er was seenA voice so commanding ne’er was heard.
What is the essence of correction?Breaking the inner peaceAll alluring acidic admonitionCan there be healing for this wound?Is far too deep to cureBeast who tears flesh like animalIn the name of correction
he speed of the deerCan’t withstand the swiftness of the foxIt came with an iron handSweeping past like windHe drinks down his rebuke with painMountains are made from his mistakeMaybe the saint in him is fade- awayWhen the man-made hardshipBecomes a ready-made instant noodles
Go tell the men in khakiBloody civilians learnWith no force and no missilesCorrection should be done in loveOr it leads to destructionThe lad, unhappy with lifeToo atrophied for his delicate fleshHe decides to wave to the worldTo where his father’s heavy browWill be missing.
ADEOTI TOLULOPE