Africa's First Love

She wakes up at the crack of dawn to pray

nothing less than that will start her day,

Her baby cushions by her breast 

her warmth so encompassing, it is the best. 

If the sky outside is dark and grey

with clouds so full they begin to spray,

She cooks up a mighty storm

sweet spices in the air take form,

There's fried rice, yam stew and corn

"Don't take the big chicken!" she starts to warn,

Too late! The BBQ jerk drizzles from the corner of his lips

Yaw gleams with cheek and off he skips,

But soon enough he halts to a belt

"Stretch out your hand you're about to be dealt-" 

Momma steps in, to semi- rescue her son

There's more meat in the oven, that alright for you hun?

Her children don't fret for she has the eyes

to protect and to care, no one else can claim that prize.

As the dusk colourfully makes its appearance

She serves up dessert with due perseverance,

Scooping up the seedy flesh from the passion fruit's cup
with my tongue, I'm sucking it up! 

She truly is the neck of the house

an uncontended fact, silently approved by her spouse.

To all the mother's that didn't know

I render this poem just to show,

That the nexus of the homes all around

Is none other but that which is found,

In the heart of a mother.

The melody of love rests in her hand 

Our gratefulness for her is uncountable like a pot of sand.