She holds a contagious beam
A beam like steam,
Which she gives freely
She tends to a farm,
A farm benevolent like heaven,
Which kills all hunger but hers
She keeps a peaceful bed
A bed as comfortable as the purest wool
Which has room for all but her
She has gifted hands
Hands like that of angels
Which heal all but herself
She possesses a beautiful handkerchief
A handkerchief like a comforter
Which wipes all tears but hers
No hands ever open for her
No eye ever sees her
None bothers with what she feels
She’s just a helper who must be milked dry
Yes, the helper, no matter how much she bleeds
She is the lonely traveller.
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2014
Mum Cee 