Thank you all for the hundred reads, I'm most grateful.

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Look up, it has come again for the moon is black.

Even the sun is strange and brings rays so dark.

The people gathered, shocked, the dogs see him leave and bark.

Do you hear?, the drum is brought out and beaten.

The sound of laughter long gone and forgotten.

The great Iroko has met tragedy, it is cut and fallen.

Such a man who like the Lion was filled with agility,

A Peacock honoured, proud and built with dignity,

Like the Tiger always steadfast, ready for probabilities.

Our King,snatched away by the claws of death releasing pain.

The eyes of the people dried, their lips cracked but all in vain,

For tears have left the eyes, they mourn, yet things are the same.

The news of his death is the talk of the day.

The prince, king makers and elders are leading the way.

Though the rain is falling they take him away.

With the great number of servant they call him brave.

Like the dust their heads follow him down to his grave.

It's a tradition, their lives can't be saved.

Put up a fight,

Bring in some light,

Their tradition is what they believe is their might.