Mother of many, woman of one, kind and patient for all,
Would give just any, to the last penny, to those that would call,
Ever embracing, never disgracing, a kind and gentle heart,
Is our mother, like no other, tears for hers, thou art.
Mother of many, endless love, we know that you are there,
You'd scratch our heads; we'd never dread, your warm care,
Always singing, of new beginning, your chant never laments,
Pain not shown when left alone, but her children's love cements.
Mother of many, extended arm, names we have for you,
Calling you things; our hearts ring of what we can now do,
Tender and fair, always there; what a compassionate thing,
To do so much, with your soft touch, we can only sing.
Mother of many, woman of three and even more to count,
Wife of one, friend for all, we can adore and shout,
In your heart, the children play; too energized to go to sleep,
We'll be back, where we sat; it's your presence we keep.
By: Abdoulaye Thiam