The Drum Ids Torn Poem by Patrick Akhudu

Just yesterday I brought her home
In good cheer and frolicking form.
I hanged her on a nail on the wall;
Here nothing would make her fall.

Tomorrow I'll fetch the drumsticks,
Then I'll warm her on those bricks,
And test her famed vocal prowess.
I will stir the whole village, I guess.

So I thought and went to my bed.
There lay the agreement; it read:
You will play the fast talking drum,
And your pay will make you numb.

I went for her in the early morning;
Children's faces gave no warning
That my only drum was badly torn.
And just like that my pay was gone!

The drum is torn, what shall I do?
How I ernestly wish that I had two!
In heaped ruins ahead lies my day
Will my family go hungry? No way!

I'll make haste and borrow one;
Against this fate I will have won.
The drum is torn, my craft is not.
From drumming I'll earn a lot!

My gifted hands played the drum,
Its language left everyone dumb.
Money followed the big applause
All the way to my happy house!