Its harvest time says Grandma Leslie and the sea moss are waiting
The joy of strolling down open field feel me with much anticipation
All alongside the narrow rock hidden deep into the gouge it grows
Wave after wave splash onto the rock but Grandma patiently sow
The fear of the deep water overcame my curiosity as I watch her go
Sea moss by the bags harvested by my Grandma own precious hands
A brownish liquid like plant turning bright white there on the sand
Under the lofty mangrove we spread our harvest to the rain and sun
Grandma thank the sea and offer praise to God when we were done
Pwindaykye I long to breathe your air feel you waters again so much fun

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Back in the days when my grandmother cultivated sea moss on the sea bed making a living of provision harvested from the ocean comes to mind I recall