Angel of Africa
There is a lady who cleans
In my local supermarket
With one of those machines
That makes the floor all wet
Then sucks the surface dry
Wiping away the grime
Brought in by you and I
On our shoes each time
She walks many a mile
Her feet must feel like lead
But she always has a smile
Her eyes sparkle in her head
She is content and at ease
With herself and always radiates
Something that seems to please
Those to whom she communicates
You may think it rare indeed
To find a ‘Being’ so content
In each smile she sows a seed
Truth & goodness Heaven sent
Regal, proud and tall
She is Fatima of Gambia
Not just a woman at all
But an Angel of Africa
Annette Abraminko (c) 2012