The soldier walks no more at dawn,
His boots now rest, his sword withdrawn.
Through dust of Daura and smoke of war,
He stood where others shut the door.

He did not bend, he did not bow,
To fickle winds or courtly vow.
His eyes were steel, his heart was flame,
For country’s sake, he bore the blame.

From barracks cold to ballot fire,
He led with silence, not desire.
In storm or still, his gaze was stern,
A soul too proud for praise to earn.

He asked not cheers, but discipline,
A creed that pulsed beneath his skin.
For wrong he struck, for right he stood,
In iron breath and soldierhood.

Now silence takes the final post,
The North wind mourns its native ghost.
The flag is folded, guns drawn down—
The lion sleeps, without a crown.

O General, your time is done,
But still your shadow meets the sun.
Nigeria weeps, both friend and foe—
For even thorns help roses grow.