Poem by Osarenren Godson
The African woman is not an actor of strength.
She is the sole provider
The nurse of emotions
The mother of brave hearts
Firmly on her loyal chest a home is built.
She is the pleasure of the bed
The push when the stitch saves nine.
With or without the illiteracy from the classroom, she is an economist
And her breast milk she never economises for fashion.
She is the fashion, the ocassion for every celebration.
The African woman grows old with her man and thus wants no slash in the name of division.
What men so seek as the head,
In her head is a special love for her children and kindred.
Though housed by pots and fire,
She is a voice
One that must be sensed like the aroma from her soup.
Yes! She is my African Woman.
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