The Struggles Of An African

I was born in an old cottage of clay with mud and falling leaves that decay.
The home where my poor family dwell. There my brothers were crying for bread. "Just give me some breakfast!", they all said. Momma look in despair, we are hungry; we don't care!
My children this is hard, I cannot bare
Only I know what my misery is And what poverty is.
only the poor people may know what poverty is in this old cottage of clay