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Jun 2017
Her palm is rough and soles of her feet cracked,
Her waist so stiff, yet strong,
Bending and rising beneath the sun's blows,
Yet her smiles as wide as a queen's,

Always adorned in tattered fabric 'graced with daily sweat'.
She didn't love it, but she must do it;
Waking to meet another beautiful day of 'peanut hunt'.
She has many mouths and hopes looking up to her,

Almost like a curse, she must hurt alone to give them joy.
Her labour yields much but she earns only peanuts.
Pruning, spraying, harvesting and processing all year,
Only to share at a loss with the powerful men.
She can't quit this trade though she hates it.

She does all, not to free her self,
But to grant her seeds a break from the curse;
That old foe - poverty always before her,
Tho uncertain her seeds would make her proud,
She never returns home till the day's work is done.
Written by
(Ghana, W/A)   
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