A sea of trees sat on a gemmy soil,
Their branches swayed without toil.
Thier roots stretched not for new taste.
Their bellies were content with their fate.
Like the tortise they could crawl,
For a zillion years while breaking no law
The unrippled trees screamed,
When the hunter found eagles with no Feathers, eagles with no sight, perched.
While washing his gun in the stream,
The hunter found stones with gems.
The quiet streams raced,
When the aliens ruffled their depth like Frankentiens.
The hunter with his sight and discontent,
Created nonexistent content for the trees.
Uprooted the juicy trees,
And blinded further the blind eagles.
The sea of trees now raced into a sea of sand,
And a sea of sand they became and remained.
Kofi Boateng (Ghana Institute of Journalism)