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To whom we run,
Mother of all hungry souls;
She keeps no barrier or divide
No matter where you may reside.
“Come one, come all,”
Be her selfless call
“For my pots they runneth over”
So we come with yawning stomachs
To eat the food of royal monarchs.
To the bachelor down the street
Her shed is a path unto his feet
Even a balm to his intestines;
To the pot-bellied boy with a huge appetite,
Hers is a place that suits him right.
Mama Put how patient you are
Even when we take things too far
By shouting “Mama Put put more fisi! (extra helpings)”
You oblige us with half a spoon
And say, “Hope I see you soon!”
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