The lust for silver and gold rests in our minds.
Our sight is shadowed by material gains;
And the result of our toils are bodily pains.
Man, they say, must strive and flood his wives with seed.
The woman, they say, must assist and have several mouths to feed.
The rich wears quality kente, fresh from the loom;
And the poor wears withering garments, awaiting their doom.
But he who flows with the rhythms of Mother Nature,
Becomes one with Father Time, making him a perfect creature.
He acquires a pure mind, as white as soft snow,
And a heart set ablaze not by fire but a warm, humble glow.
The heart and mind are now at peace,
And the body, thrust in a world where all pains cease.
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