here it stands,
before the azure sky.
Of all the trees that inhabit the wood,
you, the palm tree
stands distinguished
in grace and and elegance.

Your pretty tall stem
as straight as the ramrod
towers towards heaven
from where you gaze
at the blazing sun by the day,
and moonlight and twinkling stars
when the shade of twilight
blankets the day.

I have often admired your mood,
when the gentle breeze,
persuade your fronds
to engage in fluttery dance,
a rhythm far from jazz-blue fusion.

I share your silent pain
when I watch a wine tapper
climbs you with belt
to pierce your upper stem
with sharp knife to collect
the cool white liquid
hidden inside your bowl.

But who will ignore such a great stuff
rich and tastier than any wine I have known?
A tree of multiple purpose
that offers its fronds
for thatch houses and brooms.

Your wine takes the centre stage
in all cultural festivities and religious rituals.
Your fruit gives palm oil
whose taste and nutrients
surpass the olive oil of the Mediterranean,
and your kernel ends in our factories
for pomade and animal feed.
A tree whose worth, dwarfs that of the iroko tree.