The moon-child scuttles from a silver cave,With pincers carved from prehistoric ice;It rides the crest of a nocturnal wave,Demanding of the heart a sacrifice.Its shell is armored with the mother-of-pearl,Protecting secrets of the tidal womb;Wherein the embryos of stars uncurl,Inside the safety of the liquid tomb.He offers up the salt of ancient grief,To satisfy the crab’s suspicious eye;The creature grants a momentary relief,And retreats beneath the heavy, humid sky.The tide recedes, the silver sands are bare,A scent of jasmine in the midnight air.
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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