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 	<i class="booster-icon twp-clock"></i> <span>Read Time:</span>2 Minute, 41 Second </div>

 </div><p></p><figure id="attachment_9892" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-9892" style="width: 447px" class="wp-caption aligncenter"><a href="http://wordsrhymesandrhythm.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/class-3-printing-fee.png"><img class="size-full wp-image-9892" alt="Class 3 Printing Fee" src="http://wordsrhymesandrhythm.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/class-3-printing-fee.png" width="447" height="327" loading="lazy"></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-9892" class="wp-caption-text">www.facebook.com/WRRPoetry <strong>[Class 3 Printing Fee]</strong></figcaption></figure>He stood in a tired uniform well ironed and tucked<br>
And his shorts fusiform<br>
Today was exams day and he couldn’t wait to write
<p>He walked to him Mum for the usual morning blessings<br>
She tried to tell him that he probably should stay home<br>
He bowed his head and she threw her eyes away<br>
They both knew why… why it was best to stay</p>
<p>But he knew what to say…<br>
What to tell his teacher’s cane and his mates who might laugh again<br>
Of why he will write but can’t pay</p>
<p>His Mother knew it would be another day when her second child<br>
Will end education and chase after life around the traffic light<br>
She sensed the aroma of history repeating itself today<br>
And tried harder to keep him at home<br>
But the little boy went to school<br>
Ready to tell all about why he will write but can’t pay</p>
<p>They were many kids seated in arranged rows and columns<br>
He saw the blank desk. It was Obvious Kweku wouldn’t come<br>
One by one, the teacher inspected their printing-fee receipts<br>
Some showed a full year, others for the term…<br>
And he sat there, hoping to do magic<!--more--></p>
<p>At last the teacher got to his desk<br>
Every child was watching with their faces covered with laughs<br>
It was an old story: he would be thrown out again<br>
“Show me your receipt”, the Teacher requested<br>
“If you don’t have go home”, a boy retorted<br>
“No printing fee, no paper”, another dared to shout<br>
…And now, they all teased</p>
<p>“I’m sorry you will have to go home” said the Teacher<br>
He stood up, opened his mouth as if to cry then shut it<br>
“Go on, do you have anything to say?” Teacher urged</p>
<p>In tears, he closed his eyes, clapped both palms together<br>
And like a humble prayer, he said:</p>
<p>“I don’t want to be like Kwabena, my elder brother<br>
Who lost his education a day like this<br>
His daily bread is now oven by the red light on the street”</p>
<p>“I don’t want my mother to keep wishing for graduates<br>
Yet crying to for the fact that she can’t afford one<br>
I don’t want any of my mates here think me dumb<br>
Because I have not the chance to prove myself”</p>
<p>“Don’t talk of my father, he is long resting and heaven is far away<br>
He too had a task for me: “Become an engineer!”<br>
Please Sir, Allow me education and one day we both won’t regret”</p>
<p>This minute, you are deleting a future<br>
This minute, you can create a destiny<br>
This minute break the rules to make an engineer and Heaven will smile.<br>
This is my humble plea”</p>
<p>He opened his eyes to his ultimate dismay every eye was flooding<br>
The teary teacher apologized and promised him his help</p>
<p>Later at home, his Mum, took the exams question paper<br>
In a gentle voice, she asked, “how did you do it?”</p>
<p>Now he is a civil engineering student<br>
An award winning poet<br>
…and the author of this particular piece</p>
<p style="text-align:right;"><em>Written by: Oppong Clifford Benjamin</em><br>
<em>Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson</em></p>
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 Oppong Clifford Benjamin </a>
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