Dry is the beck
that course this vale
And now I trek
a once wet plain
Where is the groove
of thy deity?
'As Ògún fled
his den shanty?
Riddle! Mother's Dàwarà ! am puzzled!
- for cock now chase the fox - still you lie in sleepiness
As troubled as harmless
clueless
hapless
an ox
tail-less.
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