It is ten o'clock
The sun has not risen
And the cloud is full
Neither are the drizzles abating
The strong have gone out
In defiance of the inclement clime
Upon their heads cocoyam and plantain leaves
And the weak counting hours
To when the rain's tiny legs will break
Their hearts roaming to feed their famish tummies
The sky smiles and the sun shows
Weakly in the west
But for today it is too late
To step to the farm.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem