Tin Roof
Wild harmattan winds whip you
but still you stay;
they spit dust all over your gleam
and twist your sharp cutting edges.
The rains come zinging mud
with their own tapping music
yet you remain
– my pride –
my very own tin roof.
About this poem
This poem, representing Ghana, is part of The Written World – our collaboration with BBC radio to broadcast a poem from every single nation competing in London 2012.
