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Poem by Nket Godwin

LEAF This countenance is leaf, Dangling, with dewy youth, On the branches of tree; Wilted, rustle down from The touch of time's wind. It's zilch than soil manure. What essence is it emerald If it will wilt and rustle away. ©Nket Godwin
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WHEN THEY STEP They are seldom on these branches, Their lives are hollowed with patches. On the these many intertwined footprints Their foots never denote many prints. Yet when they step the leaves do rustle, Their pugilists' foots make thunder rumble; Telling the cardinals of percussion turn, With reignited flames of wodge brawns. When they step, they leave elephant print, When they step, the stars cease not to glint, For there's tale to be told by genital throngs, With their lips gigantically coated with songs. ©Nket Godwin.
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