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Francis Twumasi Poem
For nine months
With love and pain
With joy and suffering
In her womb she carried me
A mother she is
And a woman of virtue.
When there was no one, she was the only one
Even left alone, she never leaves me alone
Indeed, she’s a mother
And a woman of virtue.
When toddling, she cared
And still directs when I could run
She is a mother of the child and the adult
In her thoughts are all, even the descendants to come
Many names will I call her; “A mother of all”
And a Woman of Virtue.
Copyright © Francis Twumasi | Year Posted 2012
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Details |
Francis Twumasi Poem
I am the child
For whom most parents suffer
I am the child
For whom most mothers go through pain
Yet I’m not given the needed attention
Some abandon me on the streets
Others,in deadly pits.
I am the child
The smallest in the society
Yet I grow up to be the greatest
I’m the child
Who grows up to be the future president, lawyer, doctor
And other desired men of the society.
I am the child
Who may also grow up to be the robber, murderer,
And other nuisance of the society.
All depending on the attention I’m given
So mum, dad and brethren
Let us all help create a better world for children
For indeed, an adult is a child who has really survived.
Copyright © Francis Twumasi | Year Posted 2012
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