She has mastered the skill to till the soil
From dawn to dusk, under cold or heat.
The world delights in the fruit of her toil,
But often fails to sing her unmatched grit.
With a baby on her back, she bends to plow,
She bends to sow, waits for crops to grow,
Then she bends again to reap.
Pouring rains give her sleep
For she knows her seeds will abound.
Droughts and storms make her weep
For her hopes to harvest are buried underground.
Day and night, she attends to earth
And has formed a bond with it that brings wealth.
Her baskets full of grains and greens feed families,
School her children, and fuel nations’ economies.
Her flourishing crops cure anomalies.
Medicine and her farm produce show no dichotomies.
She is the unsung hero
Whose sweat values more than euro.
By Eliseus Bamporineza
