From Where I come

To What Remains On this same path many treaded, Whereon we are quickly headed. Whether they be great or small A part of them hang on the wall. And we on this earth May many vision birth; Whether they grow or not Who can but break the nut? The fire shall reveal the works And nothing may stand but wrecks. If they be not put asunder Tis credit to the wise builder. For with envy men shall so stain the name And with it quench your holy fame. The wind may carry along your deed But your footprints will remain indeed. ©Amu Mawutoh. 2011

First of, I thank everyone and anyone who took time to read and comment on the article "To the Memory of B.E.C.E".  The varied comments and criticisms were enlightening. While some could relate with my experience, some gave me a critical analysis with regard to semantics, punctuation, syntax and all the elements that only a professor of English could explore in a write-up. Others spoke on the aesthetic features and confessed they enjoyed the reading so much that they had wanted more. A friend even took a quarrel with me because according to him, I left him hanging. He wanted to know what happened especially to the pregnant girl. ( well my friend, she gave birth to a baby. I'm sure it was either a boy or a girl. Lol. And they lived however best they could ever after). In whatever package your comments came, I appreciate it. Let me state here, before I get onto the concern for which I came here to write, that I did not intentionally end on the pregnant girl to the effect t