We sit see and yearn from afar
The landscape pride-flock'ed-people
In grid gift grieve, We cry 'Argh!'
Jealousy and envy make us enfeeble

We know our bus can get there
But our drivers are drunk
We know we shall get there
When our drivers aren't longer drunk

Our road to Canaan is unclear
Our bingers should rest on bunks
Less, our ignited bus will orb on a spot
Until the drunkards eyes is tears and clear

And alcohol in blood is no longer conk
Our bus to Canaan will orb on a spot.

Poet: Oluwatimilehin Adejumobi Alabi