Dried stingray was so tasty
Rice porridge was smooth and pasty
Mother cooked, cared and cleaned
Her sturdy hands with duty teemed
Grandma worked in the fields
She made her widowhood her seeds
Pure freedom was in the deeds
Few choices in the dough, with fewer needs
Dad was like silent, visible strength
Providing for all was his intent
Children know happiness in their home
Birds atop a radiant dome
Dad died early; Mum died late
He decided she could wait
This poem is about love’s rock
And simple minds with magnanimous stock
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