By Jennifersoter Ezewi

There is hope set upon a hill
Wherein the people looks towards
Without knowing their fate.

There is fate messing up
The affairs of the people
Wherein they were opinionated.

There is opinionatedness mounting up
Without fear across the borders of men
Of substance whose worth speaks loud.

These men are rescued from afar
Without their opinions yet stretches
For the nut that sours their tastes.