In this great land of uncommon sages
Where iniquities have become rated
And hard labour, paid with meagre wages
While morals and truth are dead hated
...
The harmattan here is filled with rain
The night has come with radiant sun
And the dawn refuses, in fear of pain
And fowls at night do play with guns
...
How many schemes may die
In one short Afternoon
Entirely unknown
To those they most concern-
The man that was not lost
Because by accident
... Read complete poem
