When the tide was high
Boys came to watch the sand
That poured about the deck line;
Emotions swirl round the canon brass.
Sands could imprint our flowing Strides
And bear traces to our historic pride,
But tide erases our history,
Making us Legends that live via the Mystery.
To a story of poor taste
To them that made the poor vase
That history sips out,
Like wine from a drunkard's mouth.
By: Erelayefa Sylvanus Adikah (Nigeria)
photo credits fredhoogervorst.com