The land has gone mournful in tears,
For your demise coated us with weary wares,
We're in pain! In ash and squalid rags,
O my string of joy vigorously sags.
O John Evans Atta-Mills!
A man as mighty as the edion hills:
Whose praises are sung very loud,
And good deeds; published by moving cloud,
Why have you fed us with fading hope,
Now we feel glee is within our scope?
Our hearts are bilious: we'd barf,
We would stay sad and never laugh,
Let volta's lonely shores be our stay,
Until the wind of strength kisses our way.
We've sojourned into the garden of sorrow,
Treading upon thorns and paths so narrow,
And now my heart warbles melancholic song
'This barmy world has done us dire wrong'.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem