Withering Mother
I was walking in the field
Maize leaves blinding my eyes
Star thorns pricking my feet;
My eyes settled on a small pumpkin,
It had not grown enough
To show the kind of pumpkin
It would make,
Or even the shades it would take;
I just left it there
Holding on to its withering mother.
Copyright © Fungayi Elias Ndhlovu | Year Posted 2017
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