Shall I compare thee to a Nigerian sun?
Thou art less scorching and more merciful.
Harsh harmattan winds do sometimes run,
And March’s heat is far too willful.
All times too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And never is his gold complexion dimm'd
And every fair from skin's obliged to decline,
By treks and arduous journey untrimm'd
But thy Nigerian spirit shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that which thou ow'st.
Nor forget the promises which thou made,
When in financial capacities thou growest
So long as skies stretch vast and herds roam free,
So long shall thy kindness shine on me.
