NO CHOICE IN THESE OPTIONS

The little Sun and the little Moon stand on my land

Competing for me to wear their bands, oh poor Sky!

But they look like dark small tools, so I cry.

How will I explain this to the little Stars when they land?

That these young lads were the only options in choosing in the dry?

Certainly not. I will rather fry

Than make the Moon take over day and the Sun take over night, interfering with a hi,

When the clouds want to lie.

I will, for neither, wear no band

This Sky will rather be vacant and mine, rather than go sorrowfully awry.

At least, these hands of mine will be free from a tie

As I lie.

Because no matter their pampering, their end may stink like a pig’s sty.

     Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia ©2014.