My Myango Woman Poem by James Mallum

They say they come rare
Those without heads for yams and condiments
Those that make pittance where they went
Oh! How bent are their backs

For one that I love
That one with a fire burning in her eyes
One that sits by the pot and make my fingers count their lot
She is all I desire

I wish I had words
From bow to stern she is like a ship full of virtue
A whole gold mine if that is her measure
But words are of no value

Who can compare to her who can
Pouted lips like roasted cashew nuts
Or firm bosoms lectured where to stand
None compares to my Myango woman