Today, the drums speak your name, FPD!
Echoes of your deeds, they bounce on the hills,
They whisper in the valleys where the river rests.
Oh, Keeper of Many Doors, your hands stretch wide,
Bringing food for the hungry, light for the weary.
Under your shade, the sun grows kind,
And the moon sings soft, lullabies for the lost.
Who does not know your name in the market square?
Where the children laugh, where the widows dance,
For you, oh great one, have built their hope anew.
Do you hear the birds this morning, FPD?
They have come with stories, tales of your giving,
Of the wells you dug, of the roofs you raised,
The walls you painted with the colors of compassion,
They sing it all, loud and proud, as the wind listens.
Your heart, a gourd filled with blessings,
It pours and pours, yet never runs dry.
Like the great iroko standing firm,
The people find shelter under your leaves.
The oracles speak of you in riddles,
"The man who holds the key to many doors,
Yet locks none behind him," they say.
You, FPD, are a river that flows freely,
Nourishing the fields of many hearts.
Aye, your steps are heavy with purpose,
Your path, carved with the footprints of generosity.
Even the stones of the road soften beneath your feet,
For they too know—FPD walks with the ancestors,
Hand in hand, their blessings trailing his shadow.
On this day of your birth,
The sky wears its brightest colors,
The earth beats its drums, the waters clap.
For you, FPD, who gives more than he takes,
We sing your praise until the stars rise again.
Long may you walk with the strength of a lion,
With the wisdom of the elders,
And with the love of the people in your heart.
Today and always, we celebrate you,
The Keeper of Many Doors, the giver of hope.
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