Dawn is the father to every morning.
Up! you must wake son,
Look outside, women are still moaning
But when hell withdraws- evil enjoys the sun.

I cry of every blood gorged by the flea,
It's true, every man is his own worst enemy,
And this sun is the best, it makes these fiends flee.
There's nothing to do if this was made to be.

An army marches in its stomach-
To succeed on every journey it embark,
And on this, I won't ossify-
Cause I detest to testify.

I'm still at the back- room boys
And maybe one day, I will be a dark horse.
For now, let me play obtuse-
To deal with everything made to confuse.


© Buthelezi N