PROMISE WRITES OUTLET

Looking dirty like a foot of quaggy, In rain, he toiled and suffer like an army, Wanting his target aimed at dry season He digged mother earth not for gold but a reason. Hard grounds hopes to kill his passion, Giving smelly smutch instead of greens, He went home looking like a dereliction, Yet, he never stopped idolizing god of iron. He plants good seed in a squashy land, His hope to turn the land to fertile land, Where the world can fill their empty belly, But the botheration grew abundantly. When the land grew into rosy green, Wild men brought their herds to glean The sweat of the dying god of greens, And feed the god's flesh to mother earth. Who shall reward the gods of greens? Their voices are slaughtered on the alter  Of tribalism and nepotism which makes them defaulters. To their pledge to mother earth. Botheration kills the god's passion, Wild men kill god of greens and give mother earth abomination. gods pledged to sacrificed water and fertilizers, But wild ...

We were told to take a chill pill, While the volcano is raging at the uphill. The zealous battle is wangled at bastille Of zealous and fiducial citizens locked in darkside of foothill. Our hope is dashed at the riverbank, where is our canoe and pedaling plank? Alas! we shall perish at expense of smolder dank No one to build us a gangplank. Our tears is more than  the  Atlantic oceans, Yet our tears joined to fill the joyous oceans. Shouting and wailing find us no amelioration Because the volcano is dashing out with rage. Alas! Our leaders has lead us to boneyard, To prepare and secure our last courtyard. Leaders has served us neck-cranny canard  As our breakfast at the wholly barnyard.