Let me pour you
in the bustle of late bees
For the day’s job is done
and the sun leaves my back
to the bosom of Kuli valley

Let me sip you
in the whiteness of my grey hair
For the firewood will be heavy on my neck
And the way home is winding
As I dread my wife’s whining

Let me sip you
In the coolness of baobab shade
For the lazy had gone to chase rats
While I till the land into communal joy
To celebrate the harvest of moons!