Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge!


It's funny how I keep on wanting Mammy,
Just wanting Mammy, the whole day through;
When you come to think of it-it's quite uncanny,
The sort of things a Mammy does for you.
She cleans a fellow up and leaves no patches,
Just by sheer faith, in what a chap can do;
And how can you be dirty for a minute?
When she thinks you're the honest timber, through and through;
And she feels no storm on earth can set you creaking,
And no worms can penetrate your grain and hide;
And if rumor has an evil way of speaking
Of things you do-she'll up and say, they lied;
And if Life reveals the truth when big storms thunder,
Her frail body comes betwixt you and the night,
Though you feel her very heart being torn asunder
She'll face the world unflinching, say you're right.
Do you think you're worth the heartbreak and the heartache
Or worth your salt-and manhood's distance run?
Is that why she's such a guardian angel to ye?
Don't you fool yourself-it's 'cause you're just her son.

Written by Gladys May Casely-Hayford (1904-1950)


Mr. Africa Poetry Lounge