In the waking of the sun
Their day has just begun
A cry by the male hen
An alarm for the whole men
Another vigorous day of hunt
Another day the bush gets burnt
It's noon and the sun goes overhead
The women have to foresake their bed
They work their magic by the pot
Thus a feeding for the whole lot
The sun sets and turns red
Baby crys for he needs fed
Mothers rush as they breast feed
An act of rightousness indeed
In the quiteness of the night
The little ones sit by the moonlight
They sing,laugh and chat
It always goes on like that
The rich and poor with little or no cleavage
Trully it's magical to be apart of the village
T Y P I C A L of dazzo. Nice one man!