Osemwenoyenmwen Ogbemudia
And the wind whistled
Beating violently all that stood in his way
He pushed the walls
The roofing he also lifted
Pruned with bare hands the trees
Seeing his fierce anger
All scurried out of his way
Into the rooms did even the rains run
In the bid to hide
Under the beds did they hide
And the mat at the door
His anger not yet abated
He pulled down gates
And swept the streets
Gathering the refuse at the street end.