A nation betrayed,
A nation unmade
From our ancient beginning
Was our glory torn apart.
The nation wearily rest
Beneath the twisted tree of the unjust
Till death by death's ebony hand
Ferry her away to unknown lands.
Nation of all tribe,
With dark skin and fair kin.
Their fate, the maker blessed,
With all things good and rosy.
Fall does the nation's tears
From the eyes of kindred souls.
Their godly fears do they keep,
Even when their strength did grow.
©Okunola Peace
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