Remember our journey to town
In the coolness of the day
Mommy had no other employment
Than mangoes on a tray
We always looked for bargains
From the lady dressed in brown
So we can make a profit
The next time we walked to town
Mommy parceled them each day
So passersby can get
Some were even short on finance
But mommy never frets
Some days were blue as sales,
Business were very slow
She decided upon another trade,
She turned to icicle
My sister ate some for dinner
And took some home as well
Mommy never forgot my portion,
For her granddaughter Angel
She kept this trade for many years,
From school children she couldn’t hide
She was very pleased to serve them,
Until that mournful day, she died.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Rich in realism that is dear to my heart. My mother also sold mangoes... to make a living. Well done my friend!