my fortune shed its leaves

and flew away into the dastardly wind,

by the novel of bitter destiny,

but it was non-deciduous, as my riches

never returned

A cool wind murdered the warmth from

my body, made naked by wretchedness,

my hands, living sackcloths, clothed only

a decimal of my body from the chills

the sun shined hypocritically,

telling me things were going to get better,

but the siege of chilly winds still proceeding,

I only prayed to God for survival,

and guess what?

I survived.

                    By Kakraba Afful