She remember'd me and began to weep. <br />All night, she did not sleep. <br />She is growing old and ill. <br />But she does not think the pain she feels; <br />She thinks about me, her little boy, <br />Who she gives education instead of toy. <br />'I want him to make merit <br />But my ill health wants it incomplete.' <br />. <br />'Mother, I know it's never be fun. <br />The clutch of poverty and its bludgeonings, <br />Because of me you trade your belongings, <br />But the battle is almost won. <br />I know your limbs are growing wane <br />But your toils shall not be in vain.' <br />This was all I sadly could declare <br />As my eyes blink'd in droplets of tear. <br />. <br />...september 30,2012<br /><br />Joseph Oladehinde Ibikunle<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-mother-s-bed/
