An hour is as fleeting as
the angle of the morning sun,
as brief as any moment has
a kinship with the current one.

The fabric of the world with all
its artwork, every sun-dried streak,
refits the future with a small
reworking of a brush technique.

By Jennifersoter Ezewi

I have known you as a land
Filled with natural sweetness,
Fertile to the point of Willingness,
And productive to all.

You have been under the management of great leaders
Whose echoes resounds out of your reach as either bad or good managers.

You are a land to reckon with
But the torment of the old brigades
wouldn't let you go.

They call you Nigeria the great
But I call you the great land of nobility
Whose resources satisfies generations
Unremitting.

You are the land I hail from,
The land of my fathers
Whose greatness abound.

Sooner or later you will stand
To defend your name again,
You will ***** your glory in victory,
You will stand without lurch
and display your greatness.

You will wipe the tears of your inhabitants
who have learnt their lessons.

You are indeed a land of peace,
Designed to redoubt your citizens
In other to awaken your redound
But your redoubtable sculpts and scuff.

Your violators will crumble on their knees in astonishment
Seeking peace.
The unimaginable will surprise them soonest
Because peace refits itself.

This land must soar in glory,
Her people will rejoice again.
The land of my fathers is Nigeria,
Rich in culture and overly blessed.
This is that great land I hail from.