Dangling, dangling and dangling
My old ceiling fan dangles
Bought some years ago I do not remember even
And now it is old
Though to say, I could sell it
In bits and bits
Not as that of King Solomon
Who will speak wisdom, born in it?
Yes, I know, His wisdom not for sale
Staggering, staggering and staggering
Like a drunkard
Who would be for more pot palm wine
At Mame Akosua door post
AS early as 3:00 AM
Yes, I do see him sometimes
Hm, they are for sale
Yes, so she sells them indeed
Very soon, Agbokpa
Yes Agbokpa, he will be poor
No, a pauper
He will drink in seedtime, slumber in harvest time
Not even Father Abraham would do that
In his days among others
Yes, I know wealth is not for sale
Reckless, useless and extravagant
Like a rich man lifestyle
Yes, often he would
When he thinks all to himself everything is
Where wishes are as commands
Thousand and one slaves’ and still counting
No! In our time
Cars, houses, lands, estates
Do help me continue, would you?
And thinking that all could possible be done in a day
Running, overtaking, in speed and in no time
Yes, but not as that of my Old friend Methuselah
Of course not,
Life is not for sale
Or, yes
Note “Not for sale”
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