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Opinions of Sunday, 30 March 2003

Columnist: Addo, Rev. Peter E. Adotey

POEM: On Passing A Village School

Nothing but a shadow

Being used for a shelter

And nothing but stones

Being used for desks.

Nothing but a drum

Used instead of a bell

But they know what I know

And can read what I read.

This village school stands

Along the dusty road I passed

Moving about the tree

As the earth rotates each day.

Farmers can tell the time

Each day by this alone

Brave children of the soil

Working for the future

In this dusty classroom.

Memories Of Dawn At KuKuhill

Inside the gate the smell of strong tea in the air

With burnt toast and real butter

Outside the gate, strong cinnamon and nutmeg.

But I preferred the neighbors who

Cooked rice, plantain and pepper sauce

And the other that made me nauseous at times,

Fried curry rice and herbs.

But I could stand the garlic

And onions from the other side

As I wondered how many bags of onion could smell that strong.

The dawn came each morning and the sun was never late

Transporting these scents through the neighborhood.

Now I wonder if there is anyone left to admire the dawn

And smell the scents floating in the air.

The only equalizer on KuKuhill was the dawn.

The dawn is still spectacular on Kukuhill

Even if time and change have robbed it of its audience.

Nature makes up for everything

With the perfect moon and such

And for the Hilltop at KuKuhill

The dawns were spectacular

With the dew drops on the grass

Reflecting like crystals from the sun rising in the East

And those insects who have ventured into the light

Now lying helpless on the ground,

Struggling to recapture their lost flight

Before the crows and other birds

Make a feast of them,

Before the sun fully shows itself

The dawn was still spectacular on KuKuhill.



Dedicated to the memories of my parents:
Mr. D S O Addo 1902-1989
Mrs. Margaret Ellen Dedei Addo 1914-2002