Home where the floor is green, I pine.
Home where the prodigal is served the last drop of wine
And slaughtered the best of oxen to sleep in soft wool till the sun in gold shine.
Home I come with a broad smile.
Home, sweet home, the isle of my desired long thirst for beauty,
The intense throne of perfection where the soft breeze nod the lily
At a time when the moon sets for a haunt of dreams dressed neatly
In white cloth moving serenely.
Home where the poet seats with his last drop of ink
Not knowing where to starts writing as nature’s beauty doesn’t blink,
“Are thou the mother who molded thy children with so beauty a skin
So black and sweet like the berry from Eden to be touched by non -who shall have sin?”
Home to those carried by the Amsterdam
Brought back by the tide of love for freedom.
Home where all rivers run and lakes sits calm,
To listen to the cuckoo bird sing as the sun light dim.
Home where nature tranquilly lie in green,
Where forgiveness and peace huddle in white,
And where freedom and pride stretch across the blue.
Home, sweet home, sweet Sierra Leone.
