You lifted the lamp
High above the tower schemed to cramp
A mother’s value, her lores and her mores,
In the arms of Morpheus they strived to put or even some erase.
The seedling that will make the tendril cannot
Be truly guessed even amongst the lot
In the fructiferous womb of that “Ake daughter of Eve”
Gestated one seed, fructescensed and by the world, with paean receive
You lift the lamp
That, upon her trading stamp,
Mirrored her timeless effulgence
Aye, it is your fervid feasance!
Life is labyrinth of choices
But you settled on those of immorality and voices.
And, amidst the gods, you enjoy a fair place;
To the formative knives, a counsel of the populace
You lifted the lamp
And just in time, with a boisterous clamp,
Combed the illusive chambers of their worth.
Within the strand of your hair, artful crafts are called forth.
An enigma of all ages, on the rung you stand a top.
Like a kisser’s lips wearing the finest make up,
Industry festooned you with creative highness:
The ways of a black mother, you belauded in its depthness
