In the village by the mighty river's flow,
Where ancient trees in whispers tell their lore,
A young man rose with fire in his soul,
To cleanse the house his forebears had adored.
His grandfather, a man of noble stride,
Had built a home where honor did reside.
But shadows cast by women left alone,
Brought men who tainted all the family’s pride.
The young man, strong as baobab's firm roots,
With eyes that blazed like embers in the night,
Proclaimed, "I am the guardian of this house,
I've come to set our lineage aright."
"For I am blood of he who toiled and bled,
Whose sons have strayed, but dignity remains.
Their hearts once pure as streams that gently tread,
Now muddied by dishonor's greedy chains."
"Women, you who've let these men intrude,
And dance upon the graves of those who rest,
No more shall you defile these sacred halls,
For I shall cleanse this home, by God’s behest."
With whip in hand, he stood, a lion fierce,
The crack resounding through the village air.
The men who dared to trespass fled in fear,
Before his wrath, no transgressor dared.
"O grandsons of this house, your blood is mine,
We rise as one, no longer shall we fall.
Through unity, our strength will be divine,
Together we will stand, together, tall."
The women wept, their hearts now filled with shame,
For they had wronged the spirit of the past.
The young man spoke with wisdom, not with blame,
"Restore our honor, let our name hold fast."
In time, the house of old regained its grace,
With love and honor guiding every hand.
The young man’s name was sung through every place,
The hero who had saved his sacred land.
And thus, the tale of courage carried forth,
Through generations, whispered by the fire.
The legacy of honor, duty, worth,
Forever etched in hearts, a living lyre.
