On great seats of Beech and Oaks
Running the world while our homes burn
I weep as the Algebra steals our hands
Our hands from the knife and potatoes
Our hands from the first buttons of our blouse,
Oh the magnificent shoes we now walk in,
How far they drive our kneels from our man’s feet,
How sore they tear our breasts from our child’s reach
I weep for me and you dear sisters
For our wife-cloth, only enough for polka-dots
The hue of our stockings, such blueness knows
I weep for us
I weep for our daughters…..
Written by: Honeyhammer Ohgirliekevwe NayummyRealmuch
Edited by: Kukogho Iruesiri Samson
I am a member of the WRR editorial team.