Siren sound
Signifying the demise of a politician
An octave wind,
Blowing from where the sun grows on trees!
Radio airwaves pregnant
People eulogize, others rejoice
A wail is heard from the smoke engulfed hut
Though she never met him!
The romour-mongers brew
A sweet-bitter drink
The what,
Who,
And the how
Murder they say, even when God has taken His own
Who will sit next?
Before the grave has seen the grave-digger
On and on, they muse
Until new, a story is told.
……………….words don’t grow on trees…………..© Vinn 2011
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