My mother left me at the age of eight
Making my early childhood to crawl just in tight

Tending us all through keeping our welfare always in sight
My father departed at my age of forty eight leaving our lives truly so bright

What can I say and how can I protest?
I nodded my head at all times though in a fix and also in severe unrest

My cheeks now look channeled not by one or two tears
But by the unending streams of flooding tears and blowing fears

The patience I derived from the breast milk drops of my mother in line
The discipline I bequeathed on dotted lines from my father’s date line

What I can I do to my parents for their reverend bliss?
Except swearing in to pass on the glories to my daughter and sons in glimpse

Oh! I see now my parents blessing us all from the high above and far beyond the skies
To make me delightful leaving away all the destined and undesired cries

I really owe them a lot for all the seeds they sowed in me
Only to see to it that they grow and benefit my generations as a fruitful tree.