Prologue to Harvest
The shadows of the year gone still linger
Pilfering hope from the hearts of the weak.
But we have already smelled the morning
And come to you with our Praise Offerings.
The drums You hear are of the expectant:
The praise and prayer of the faith-full.
We pour our laughter and dance out to You.
You who fetches water with a basket and yet
Never loses a drop. Friend above all friends,
Look! Our maidens wriggle their waists like tadpoles
To your praise. And our men stamp their mighty feet
Till the dusts rise in worship.
Like libation from the calabash of the thirsty;
Like song from the lips of one in labour;
We offer you the best of our flock and harvest
In hope of an even greater, more fruitful, new year.
Poem and photo © Nana Kofi Acquah