In Africa’s heart, where cultures blend,
An elderly lady, with skilled hands does tend,
A mat weaving, with threads of old,
A tradition passed down, stories untold.
With each strand, a memory is spun,
Of ancestors’ wisdom, and days begun,
The rhythm of weaving, a soothing beat,
As the mat takes shape, beneath her skilled feet.
In every fiber, a tale is told,
Of community, love, and a heritage to hold,
The old lady’s hands, move with gentle grace,
Weaving a legacy, in a sacred space.
