Just like every other morning, she was up before the sun got out of bed.
With nothing but high hopes for the day,
A baby sagging from her bony back,
And a fireplace that had her artistic fingerprint.
We need not ask where the awakening scents of Akara (beans cake) that filled the street came from,
For her skillet have been known to nurture.
Yes, she's a graceful nurturer.
The struggle lines that showed up as wrinkles on her face, couldn't hide her gentle grace.
The grace with which she masks the sweat and sacrifices engraved in each delicious ball of Akara.