Born surrounded by snow
I laughed when called
Son of the snow
Till it melted away in Summer
Leaving not a trace
No!
I am a Son of the soil
So off to Africa
By the muddy banks
I felt one with the land
Yet one called out
‘Behold the Son of the Poto-poto from abroad’
No!
I am a Son of the soil
So further down stream
I saw the Oil spillage
Strangling the beautiful River
By the dying River
I announced I was the
Son of the soil.
One called out
‘There’s no good soil here
You must be
A Son of the Crude Oil’.