FARMING SEASON


It comes only but once annually

Leaving marks of merriment in the faces of our farmers

Time when you plant hundred yams

And boast of two hundred

Time when the soil becomes red and rich

That tomorrow even the bits of cassava

Idly thrown away by careless eaters

Will swell in the ground

And turn red like cam wood

Time when the soil

Produces yam

Too big for our stomachs

And tomorrow it yields seeds

That last us entire year round

 

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