Proverb's Daughter Poem by Martins Akhoeneto

The very last of it shall be
When locust, bees shall plague
On your daughter's till day-break
But until then, don't call me


I will forbid you, your unborn
To greet my doorstep with sob
I will repel your acclamation
And leave thee to thy sorrowful cup


The very last shall be it end
Now that the curtain had fallen
Your evil show, and nothing was earned
But grief and grief so appalling


For in many black nights, tears floods
With a slap of time against odds
These times you dine on lions head
Whilst hunger usher my daughter to bed