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Uforo Umoh

Muffled Voices

We are ill!
Our bodies are rotting away
From myriad years of neglect;
Our vim is gone.
We need a surgeon to succour
Our suppurating sores.

We are ignorant,
Enmeshed in folly
We need a philosopher,
Noblest of men,
With wit
Surpassing the crowd's
To counsel us aright.

We are a herd
Scattered about
The herdgroom slumbers away
After his fill of victuals.

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