I hardly know my mother’s daughter
I rarely see her face
Her tiny braids and shaded views
Enshrine her family looks
My head revolves as cone
To recall her family tone
To every blessed event
She has a peculiar accent
Her height is ever undulating
All resting on her sole
I guess she’s half my height
When she’s true to her soul
I dare not describe her
The attending devilish bouts
On her chameleon flesh
Recalls the devil’s master scheme
Who knows my mother’s daughter?
1 comment:
Fashion and craze for what is in vogue has made many a lady something despicable. What with heavy make ups, high heeled shoes that alter their walks, plastic accent to impress and wayward dressing.
If care is not taken, one will not even know his own sister.
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