By the foot of the hills he stood to look back
Waving to images, thin from the long distance
I was among those thin images that stood afar
Watching as he disappeared from our glance
He had left stories in our mouths and hearts
Taught us that we must leave the quiet village,
To learn from the moving train of soldier ants
To go beyond the hills and bring success back
The golden sun was just setting
But he was already gone
The little ones will know little of him
And we must wait for his return
Discover more from Oke’s Musings: Poetry, People and Places
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