Mama Africa
I think of my Africa
Black woman of mettle
Sitting like a forlorn workwoman
On the slimy green.
Mama let me help you up
Take my hand and heave
Just one move of muscle
Will raise you from your stooping
She sits still
Reluctant and bemused
Unrepentant of her inferior folly
I am agitated
Mama cannot go on such forever
One more effort must remind her
That I am still her son
And her shame is mine as well.
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