I wonder why you always worry,
I’m not understanding why you’re sorry,
I fail to imagine why you like the story,
I even hate the related query.
The sweeper sweeps with no warning,
Compound owners are left mourning,
People will gather even from morning,
The demise of “so” is hurting.
When the sweeper sweeps it,
We all accept he did it,
Seven feet lowered in pit,
But we hate the sweeper.
Patrick Mutinda
The writer.
patrick's poetry 