Immortal Toil Poem by Tony Adah

Every year when all bush slashing
Has been done, all the earth made
Into a smothering of black, brown
And gray clouds, the mounds also made
Yams are buried with joy
And stakes put to hold their twigs
There's no more work
The village folk idle about
Yearning to hear the crier
Say one old man is gone
The message real as usual
There is joyous mourning
Waiting for food and drinks
Songs and dances and then the dirges
Every year the cycle strengthens
Its circumference and the days passby
And everyone is old and gone
Leaving behind toil
O immortal being.