Of the triad
I am the oldest
And it seems natural
That I am the poorest.

I swapped churches
And stop going altogether
I start pilfering
And now I’m a Robber.

For nothing
Would I blame you
Thou who sitteth
On the fiery throne
In heaven
And makes my only home
Your footstool.

Africa!
My homeland
Sure is that side of the stool
Where your soles are at rest
This much I can deduce
From imprint of abuse
Like fossils preserved
On the coast thence.

I am the third guy
In the third earth
In a third world
Where hunger strikes
With God-like wrath;

And of the triad
I am the third one
With an immanent
Poor demeanor
And a consistent
String of poor result
Always in minus;

So that the mien
Of my morrow
Is forlorn
And the reports
From the future
Are ominous.