My African Mama

I used to hung on my mama’s back
and crying’s what I did the most
I never knew she had alot of work
than keeping hold of me like a post
Seizing me was first thing upon sunrise
troded on cracky woods,sometimes we lost
And dusk, we just sat down to revise
her problems that came at high cost
but mama am sorry.,
I recall you patting on my little shoulder
and told me not to worry,
because I was young but somehow older.
Mama could stretch her hand, give me a rose
and any pretty thing she could come across
As we troded down the path to town
soaked in her own sweat and tears, she looked above
Worn in her only dusty rugged gown
that assured me of her entire love
at last we found ourselves at home,
she weakly pulled the wooden stool
sat besides the potatoes to peel
her narratives’ sensation was so cool
as I waited her serve the daily ‘meal’
They are the good times I won’t forget.
Mama one day I’ll settle that bill
regardless of how older you shall get
In appreciation of how good I feel