My Father Corn Mill
Standing in the center of my father’s village
Is a mysterious corn mill
Which produces the worst of flour
Even when served with the best of corns of the land
So in hunger, his offspring always weep
Across the coast off my father’s village
Lies this giant but old corn mill
Which receives grains from father’s fields
To produce flour, honey and milk
To serve and fill the mouths of its offspring
Sometimes to the benefit of those not his offspring
So why should the corn mill of my father breed the worst?
Without a lesson from him that mills across the coast
While the children of the land grow pale and frail
The pawpaw’s bridegroom dances and waves
Is it the chorus of the tunes that spreads loud from its wings?
Or it’s a heritage that needs to be preserved to appease the gods
So when would the miseries of my siblings come to rest
Should I send spies to the corn mill we were once forced to build
Or awake the doors of the gods with a penny
To discover the corn mill and my father’s destiny
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