African, clot, crown, drown, Help, humble, junk, lake, Life, literature. time, Lost, lust, Man, Money, People, plot, plunge, poem, Poetry, precious, The poet in the poem, trouble, twin, wealth, Yas Niger
“Spend me! You miserable clot,
So I can travel, visit and just be.
Have I not uplifted all your lot
With my coming and swelling sea?”
“Ha! See what is talking here;
Another creation grown astray.
Has making you collect near
Lost its purpose as any way?”
“I have existed so long before,
Making many, long before you.
Hadn’t my might sown more
Fright in you than you’ll rue?”
“My fear of you doesn’t keep,
That is why you I do amass.
How trivial your might heap
Just like any furniture was?”
“I taste the air men breathe,
Inhaled in its life and gasped.
Hasn’t the ease I could knit
Warm skeletons all trapped?”
“I plunge in a lake all humble,
Help will come and does drown.
Had not man’s urge so trouble
His lust for his own crown?”
“Then I’ve unraveled your plot,
So with me you’re ever sunk.
I’ll keep man’s own twin clot.
After all, aren’t you precious junk?”