Wednesday, 17 September 2014


A poem by Okoye Precious o.

i love my little hut, tiny as it is
made of the red- cam mud
as pretty as can be

i cherish the coziness my little room doth bring
in the cold, warm; in the heat, cold
like a serving maid, changing as i wish

i have no gold, but in my own hut i am king
my wooden plates and broken cups are treasures i
-must pride in

no mutton meat to grace my table or costly reddish wine
no wealthy guests to visit me, for where will they even sit?
in my hut i have some fish my mama gave to me
and when we sit to eat porridge, what ecstasy i feel!

in my hut we grow some love, joy and harmony
which i know i'll never have in tall white mansions
when we kneel to pray to God, i know he smiles above
for the joy in my little hut makes the angels envy

i do not wish for a pretty rug to kiss my hardened foot
my smooth red mud is good for me, the little it can do
i do not pray for a 3-winged bird to make me cool and dry
the creator of heaven knows his own and sends me precious air

contented i am in my little hut and forever i will be
but now am grown and rich and smart...
i miss my little hut!!!

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