By Tikum Mbah Azonga
She lived for herself
Partly down, partly up
All her gold and diamonds were on the shelf
Because she feared any bust up.
No one went in, no one went out
Of her crimson red lone house
Did she know about the rout?
Or did she yearn for yet another louse?
If all there is to life is wealth
With nothing else being important
Then by far, I prefer health
So that in many ways, I can be distant.