The Looted Storehouse (Hour 12)

It’s the heart of the wet season
When the woods are drunk
And we cannot navigate
The mighty ponds
On the paths to our farms.

Overgrown weeds hide
Hideous reptiles.

Cold comes knocking
So we unlock the stores
To fetch faggots we gathered
When the woods were dry
But the storehouse is empty

While we slept
While we enjoyed relief from
The scorching sun
Folks to whom we entrusted the store
keys robbed us dry,
Shared all we had gathered
Among them.

Now our children are dying of cold
No firewood to keep them warm.

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