Mother; a wind that gently blows
Her life, scatters as Egyptian slave
Tired but her strength never goes
And she looks for cassava, she's brave
Mother; tears that makes the future smile
A soldier to her son, she's an armour
Her heart cools anger like the Nile
A tireless woman, her children glamour
Mother; beautifully moulded versetile
She cooks, makes dosh for her husband
And designs her family far a mile
For children, she chains to her husband
I will always love you mother
You are a red rose, there's no other
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem