The farm
the field of yields
of springs and of sprouts
of grains and of nuts
of tubers and of fingers
of roots and of fruits
From apple to pineapple
From berry to strawberry
From yam to cocoyam
From avocado to potato
From cocoa to coconut
From akple to tuo zaafi
The farmer
the cold morn could not hold him in bed
after the first cockcrow
The dew could not deny his due
in the chosen duty
The rising sun could not shut his reason
for rising before sunrise
The wild weeds could not weaken his will
to weed the field
He sows his seed in the morning
His hand does not rest until the evening
After the rain
he casts his seed beneath the earth
Many days hereafter
he finds more grains
He watches not the wind
so he sows seed
He looks not at the clouds
so he reaps bountiful harvest
He faces the vagaries of the weather
even when the drought is not in doubt
He borrows in the season of scanty harvest
He sorrows in the season of satiating glut
His work measures his worth
But their words measured his worth
“He is only worth the wealth from the earth
His place belongs in the fringes and corners”
Their worth measured his worth
But his work measures his worth
His best produce proceeds to the market place
for a fairly unfair deal
The crumbs he keeps as a staple
for a family meal
His first fruits must fill up the market place
His lean fruits must fill up his family plates
The middleman meddles with his prosperity
The price of his bag of rice
sees no rise
What they pay for those tubers
is only a pittance
His vegetables are getting rotten
so they pay next to nothing
Farming
the oldest occupation
when creation entrusted man with the cultivation of the vegetation
Farming
the noblest profession
where returns smacks of zero corruption
Farming
the closest link to nature
where nature multiplies the seed of the planter
to feed the eater
Farmers farming afield…Ayekoo!!!
