She's My Mother Poem by Vyktor Ekott

She may look haggard and old
Or like a local queen from the gutter
For the fact that she kept me from emotional cold
No opinion of yours will stop her from being my mother.

You call her a black, African witch
She can’t be replaced for another
Her skin colour may be red, black or peach
Don’t talk down on her, she’s my mother.

She may be plump and short in height
Despite her height, she supports like a pillar
Physically, she looks small, emotionally she’s a giant
I know her well, because she’s my mother.

She may not qualify your idea of beauty
That’s because motherhood made her suffer
She’s unkempt and her dentition is filthy
I love her so, ‘cos she’s still better than your mother.