This only grows in the times the flood run and run over my humble house

Which was there before the dawn of ages?

To serve as a home to all that may possible pass by

Sojourn to places they would not remember

Talk of recounting a story from here

Where thousands would have slept and dine before

Bringing back home their lost treasures

O f all goods and goodies

So beautiful and majestic to adore in insight

For the kings sake


Who would know full well he could possible rule till end

If only I am correct

If it be a plant,

It shall not cease wet

For such make the hunter

Leaving early as he could

To the forest of many animals and things to hunt

But few to lay hands on legally

To remain focus at least


Il n’est pas facile

When great men sit to see

Stand yet you

Not to see


My little hope

Which dries in the raining season?

Like a saliva

From the north-east trade wind door post

Which finally happens to wet it?

Growing it little by little

That someday

Rain possibly

It’s all about my little hope.

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