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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