Nigeria, May 4 -- Seasons come, seasons go But your virtues remain steady Untouched by passing fancies

Below is a slightly amended version Of my ode to the Teacher Two remarkable decades ago..

*

Old teachers never die; They simply wax wiser with passing moons. Old teachers never die

The wine of age is winking in your glass, Sip it in style; Sip it with relish.

For when you sat in the saddle*, You never rode roughshod upon our earth. Your voice called up our depths

Your silence gingered us into song Our growing scrawls mellowed into hieroglyphs On the tender papyrus that was your palm:

(Allophones we all, of your happy phoneme) Liberal star, compassionate moon. Scion of a stock in league with Light

Let your ebony laughter unknot ou...