These stretch marks my son, prove me a woman,
One of those who has been ordained,
One who has completed her mission on earth.
My son, these marks are the rewards for carrying you in me for nine months.
They are the prestigious gift i got for giving life.
My son whenever you see them on any woman,
Bow down in respect,
For she fought and won the battle,
The battle that has seen many sisters ascend to the ancestors
Let the many who notice them not fancy me sexually,
But appreciate the beautiful crown in which i was crowned
These stretch marks my son,
Proves your mother a hero, a fearless woman.
A woman who fought labor pains and succeeded,
A woman who fought for father and son,
A woman who fed both at ago.
My son your mother is a hero!
And these marks just prove it.
They are the Armour in which i was knighted
And the marks are the scars that the labor fragments left on me.
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