The Archon thins, a ghost of vellum gray,His essence drained into the fertile dirt,For every sun he authored for the day,Has cost him a foundational, deep hurt.His fingers, once the pillars of the sky,Are now but wisps of smoke and fading chalk,As he prepares to utter the last "Goodbye,"And cease his heavy, multidimensional walk.The price of the creation was the Self,To be the shelf on which the book is laid,To sit, a silent volume on the shelf,And watch the glory of the light he made.The author must diminish for the tale,To cast aside the heavy, mortal veil.
MICRO FINANCE unknown to many is the sole panacea to mass poverty eradication in human society.The blog specifically focuses on the industry around the world but with more bias on Africa-unarguably the poorest region of the world.
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