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.

* bullets
¤ East African wear

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