Sod dug from old earth & given new birth,
With water, thirst slaked, patted & caked,
By slim brown hands & dusted with sands,
Kneaded & folded, then formed & moulded,
With sun absorbed & herbal juices so daubed,
New pot now born, to use from dusk to dawn,
Placed on proud head, full of grain for the
bread,
Emptied & refilled, with water, sloshed
& spilled,
Dancing upon black curls, as she sashays &
swirls,
The girl & pot, one, together, beneath African
sun.
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