A SEASON AGO

Seasons come, seasons go

Now that our season’s here,

It’s to the farm we go

One hand holds the cutlass,

And the other the hoe

We proceed, with our seeds

Ready to sow

We dig, we clear, and we throw,

Knowing that in good time, our crops will grow

And our plants will rise like dough

Provided we nurture, weed and mow

As time passes,

We await the crops to grow,

The rain falls,

Yet nothing to show

The sun shines, winds blow,

And still nothing to show.

Then suddenly,

We hear the season clock crow

Our hands climb to our heads

For in our hearts we know;

We should have planted

A season ago.

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Copyright. Olayinka Agbaje-Williams, 2015

All Rights Reserved