The shed of trees is our playful home
It’s where we learn to sing and dance,
Under it, we wait for the moonlight,
It’s a citadel when we play our games,
Limbs we cling to, to mock the monkeys,
It’s the grand shanty where father’s tales are told,
The onset and climax of night where tales is a lullaby
Discover more from Oke’s Musings: Poetry, People and Places
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