When the harmattan comes
With it wizening winds
It is time for the crops
And weeds to wilt.
Lilies do subterranean hiding
It is time for humans
To talk and taunt
When it drizzles
Or drops from even dews
It is sprouting time
To beg my neighbour.
Never put a man
Into the grave
When he is still breathing!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem