Made of black with a hand that never lacks.
A sight to behold with a heart of gold.
A light which ignites our might in the time of plight.
Iya wa Wuraola
Who watched us sprout from a suckling babe to becoming men of worth.
Who cradled our fragile bodies in her weak arms.
Whose breasts nourished us while getting painful teeth bite as compensation.
Who peppered our backs with the choicest koboko.
Moulding us into men of honour.
Whose slaps reconfigured our wayward minds.
Building us into men of principles.
Her eyes are the glistening lamps that beamed rays of love on us.
And always watched out for us.
Her hands are tender arms that showered our bellies with best delicacies.
And hustled non-stop towards putting a shirt on our backs
Afo muru ogalanya
Her legs are a beautiful feet of gold.
Preaching the gospel to all nations.
Bringing up kids who are today conquering the world at large.
Her ears are patient bowls which are never tired nor dull in response.
Rising to answer the loudest attention seeking sob in the middle of the night.
And detecting the faintest cry of anguish which we strove to conceal from the world.
Your children are arrayed with clothes of thanks.
Their feets shod with shoes of sincere love.
To say thank you.
To say Daalu nne.
To say WE LOVE YOU.
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