A Plea for Mercy By Kwesi Brew

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A Plea for Mercy

By

Kwesi Brew

We have come to your shrine to worship 

We the sons of the land.

The naked cowherd has brought 

The cows safely home,

And stands silent with his bamboo flute

Wiping the rain from his brow;

As the birds brood in their nests 

Awaiting the dawn with unsung melodies;

The shadows crowd on the shores 

Pressing their lips against the bosom of the sea; 

The peasants home from their labours 

Sit by their log-fires 

Telling tales of long-ago.

Why should we the sons of the land

Plead unheeded before your shrine?

When our hearts are full of song

And our lips tremble with sadness? 

The little firefly vies with the star,

The log-fire with the sun

The water in the calabash

With the mighty Volta,

But we have come in tattered penury 

Begging at the door of the Master.