Hope Planted

Stand, did you stand, through the fire and bright flame,

yet your walls still fair and tame,

will you stay, will you stay?

Rise, did you rise, from the ash that pyres made,

blades of green that never fade,

will you grow, will you grow?

Sound, did you sound, when the ramparts did give way,

heart and cannon did not sway,

will you guard, will you guard?

Sprout, did you sprout, where a solemn hope did form,

bearing strength in stirring storm,

will you bloom, will you bloom?

The Robin’s Song

Poetry by Isaac Ogbo.

From photos and drawings have I oft known,
their feathers, tail to beak, are boldly shown.
Coated with blue rays, shine from wings enclosed,
mark their heads, deep eyes piercingly unfold.

Their torso, bright orange, beneath teal mass,
an ocean reflecting sunset’s long pass.
Its shape and form, I admire still on,
like the sun and sea converging at dawn.

But now as I look to trees hopelessly,
leaves, barely rustling, sway peacefully.
Although it is hidden, I still bear joy,
for it leaves me with songs, ‘tis nature’s ploy.

Its beauty captures me with profound voice,
never my eyes see it, I still rejoice.