She left her smiling alter

Knowing not she was going in for a slaughter

Oh why is she being pounded in a mortar?

Somebody’s precious daughter!


I hear she had the greatest court

Knowing not those days were for her to be bought

Now she sits in thorns smiling but hot

Can’t say what problems lie in her cot


She was revered for the pampering

Loved particularly the attentive tenderings

Spoke of all great the great embracings

And how her heart’s wheels were always racing


She got all her needs

And needed not any feeds

All that was great were his deeds

And all her instructions she said he heeds


After the alter, she fed his cot

He told her his “winning her heart deeds” all left his pot

He said the pot had no hope in dot

And that they must live in each one’s lot


Pampering turned to shouting

Buying turned to complaining

Listening turned to nagging

His pleasantness turned to hurting


Oh a precious daughter!

Why are you in a pounding mortar

Hurting and earning many a suffer?

Living like a starved-in-ove pauper

It isn’t proper, oh somebody’s daughter!

Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © 2015

2 thoughts on “THE SMILING MORTAR

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