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