Yoruba Child: An Eulogy

I'm molded in the richest of clay soils, Shaped by the stories of old. Struggles of my heroes past taught me resilience Hardened in the fieriness that is the African sun Cultivated in the ways of Odùduwà My errors are trimmed by Mami and Baami Watered and nurtured with love from Ìyá àgbà I bear the fruits of honour and pride I'm a Yoruba child Adorned in red beads that speak of my royalty My black skin glistening beneath the sun I am the vessel of an ancient people, A people whose backs refused to break beneath the crack of the whip. I am a child of a culture of glory and grace.