Steel-Cased Heart 3

A steel-cased Life, a heart alone,

Is not a fortress but a grave.

Running solo away from pain?

Stop, you fool! You'll be hurt again.

Hurts don't make hearts a hermit's cave.

If yours is, raise a tomb-stone.

An African Christmas

Why sing we songs of mistletoe?
Why exalt we the pure white snow?
What meaning, tell, Rudolph's Red Nose?
What romance bears fireside repose?
In an African Christmas.

Why not sing of Harmattan air?
Why not laud bluest atmosphere?
Extol the smell of burning grass,
Sing of dust not frost on glass,
In an African Christmas.

It's not the seasons of the year
That make the wondrous air,
But Mary's Infant, Meek and Mild,
Praise, all men, the Holy Child,
In an African Christmas.

Dejo Fabolude