Mother is dying, I think it’s the effect of the poison.
Gulped three and one bottles of different brands.
The quack doctor gave her and siphoned her thoughts astray.
One of the bottles read corruption and on another moral decadence.
She wouldn’t let go of my arm.
I resolved into silent rumination just to think of a plan.
Oh sovereign lord look into mama’s case,
Since 1960 she toiled earnestly and soiled her face.
Oh mother should I get a panacea or ask the doctor for an antidote.
Dashed off with the little strength I had left.
To go see what I could get.
For if mother should give up the ghost.
I’d be a visitor and life;the host.
By: James Anita.
Happy Independence Day in advance.