MY LABOUR

Labour is to her like breathing
She sweats and toils for the home
Her cry usual is a tune to them
Yet her smile is evergreen
Because the home is forever her duty
As she accepted that ring
The home and Kitchen became the career
Dawn or Dusk she is at your service
Building the home to its best
She goes on and until they nod satisfied
Of the vessels she is called weak
But who enters the Kitchen and Labour room
Who grooms the Lords and Generals
She is at the centre of the home
Without whom things fall apart
She would appreciate some masculine might
But who will offer one
Shes is expelled from the gym to the kitchen
Yet the kilos are given to her
Call her the domestic peace offering
Her future she mortgages
All for the Family and its luggage
Routine and chores are her cycle
But to give is never her thought
Because she is never meant to bow out
They see her in various forms
A married maid, a walking uterus
Yet her light they cant ignore
She isn’t the head of the home
Yes! But can they go on without her?
Her shoulder always available
Either to cry on or to climb on
She pledges not to deny her call
To serve her home with her all
Like the IROKO she never bows
Do not step into those shoes of hers
It really burns, its for heros only
Not that this labour she savours
But someone has to raise the world
And purpose has chosen her