On the foot of scattered hills
ìjàré
Yet a Valley, yet a plain, yet on a plateau
Hidden behind dusty roads
Unknown mystery until seen
Not a birthplace of Kola-nut
But owned it.
Scorched masquerades in its wakes
It is the cult of ọlọ́fin
Not since Genesis
had friends' dispute founded a land
ìjàré
An outpost broken in quarrel
Solved by broken Obì
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