Roses do not see rain in my land!
I dip my clean hands in the sand
On which you rest your cotton sole
To pick stones with my heart's soul.
I stand with stones in hand,
What worth are they to my crime?
Skint, of nothing but an apologetic staunch.
Free my hand of these stones,
Tell what they eat
Or throw them at me
As purgation of my crime!
©Nene Tetteh Adusu