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
It’s all about my little hope.