By Wegolonyo Erick
The courage that my mother had
Went with her and is with her still:
Licac* raced from the battlefield;
But my mother endowed me with her brawn.
The rancid kitenge¤ my mother wore
She left behind for me to wear;
I have nothing to treasure more:
Yet, ’tis something I could spare.
O! If instead she had left to me
The thing that made her brave-
And that’s what took her into the grave!
Abet not to long for any pilgrimage.
¤ East African wear