When sadness sits like a chief
Brewing the pungent and ugly grief
Siding with all words but brief
Stealing a heart like a shameless thief
Why do you say fate’s ladle is deep?
When this chick chirps as a bird
And its mother finds it absurd
As its rival families root for it as dead
And peers and strangers hate to it heard
Why do you say fate’s ladle stir deep?
Each is born
Each would be gone
Each, in time, finds its own corn
Each harbour its scorn
Each knows not its last dawn
So why will a menace blow its horn
Onto a new generational lawn?
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 11th March, 2017