Flirting and Disaster

The mother hen and chicks
Complained boisterously
Of lack of freedom
To eat more tasty insects
Out on the dunghill till the hawk picks them for dinner.

The things we love most
Are our signals for danger
Like baits
Stolen meat kills
Like swallowing the fish and the hook

But nothing spoil
If person kuku die
On top the thing wey him like
If person no flirt with danger self
Danger go still come kill am one day

Bose