Whine as I shine
Dine as I work in line
The great palm tree
That knows not its importance
Dies with whipping clothed broom
Which yearn to sweep the earth’s dirt
Or help farmers carry things
No matter its ungracious ending
That same tree is bitten by palm worms
Which yearn to live to be called delicacies
Look, the very same tree drowns in its wine
Which never got the chance to bubble
Let alone beat minds of its lovers
And its ghost has to live with cries
Of its fallen palmnuts
Which never graced the bottom of hungry pots
Let alone shed their juices
To help mould foods to feed
On top of all that
Its nut shells chase its ghost
Hoping to burn it once and for all
So dine and whine
As I shine in line
Souls are different,  you have thine
And I, mine
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

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