A Bad Man’s Burial

Who cries over spilt milk,is it not the foolish servant of a mad master?. The man is gone and their cries are futile. Or who cries over a broken golden egg, how much more a rotten one. The rains must fall,the clouds are already too heavy for the sky. The trench must be flooded and his body must be left to waddle in the temporary water table,six feet below. Tomorrow must be dry,though.
I once told my father that Nigeria’s Independence was slated for Oct.1st,1960,so as to avoid the rain. But alas the rain was great.My father replied softly,
“It was a bad man’s burial”. Then I marched on to find a way to our colony. Alas,i found one but i’ll tell you later.
I’ll rather rush and milk the cow again,get and guard it well. I’ll struggle through the dungeons to find a new golden egg.
God bless Nigeria.

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