No grass-cutter will ever use
Its own hands to light a fire
In a grass hole which houses its muse
Or its own loving empire
So why abuse your living space?
We are all sailing to leave to here gift
Like leaves on a running river
To those who we sift
Into this world with a shiver
So why corrupt this divine space?
Be the river that cleans the dirt
And not one that erodes the sand
Be the broom that sweeps the filth
And not one that sweeps gold dust
For we are in a transit, at a blessed place where our scents live on
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia © December 5, 2017