From death's jaws, he was torn
June twelve for peace on him was born
Eight years running, trillions down
Blood of our people subtly drawn
Cunning, canny, down to the bone
He would have stayed till kingdom come
Of beauty in face, grace or form
He was certainly not the one
The doctors tried to no avail
His sickness doctors could not unveil
Smuggled in at night, the world asleep
Trussed, long dead with not a peep
Came the man who had no shoes. .
Took him as kin with his tale of woes.
Six months down, his shoe rack full
Slapped us with hikes in liquid gold.
Image downloaded from pixabay
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