By Jennifersoter Ezewi

The fluid of a writing pen has been exhausted;
Yet, the paper maketh an outcry.
Who can quench the infused passion for oil?
Whose echo resounds for ages without fear.

Strength! What is expedient?
At the point of departure of thy master,
Who screamed for hope?
When the journey beamed
At the invisible exit,
The seeds scooped out
The voice of continuity.

Integrity has left a legacy;
Weep not, Memo!
For the social prestige lieth awake.