Majoreni

In Majoreni's sun-baked heart, where palms sway in the breeze,

Lived Baya, with a fire in his soul, a message on his knees.

His voice, a weathered drumroll, spoke of women and their plight,

"A wife unloved," he'd often say, "casts shadows in the night."

For Baya knew, a happy wife, was fertile ground for love,

Where children bloomed like morning glories, kissed by heaven above.

"A messed-up wife," he'd say again, "is a burden on the soul,

A fractured well, where love runs dry, leaving children out of control."

He preached of husbands, duty-bound, to cherish and adore,

To fan the flames of tenderness, and plead for something more.

"The greatest gift a father gives," his voice would firmly boom,

"Is not a roof, nor clothes, nor bread, but love within the room."

For love, he claimed, was lifeblood true, that coursed through wife and child,

A father's strength, a mother's song, a bond that ran wild.

"So let your wife be sunbeam bright, and laughter fill your days,

For love that lights a mother's heart, on children brightly plays."

Through Majoreni's dusty lanes, his words like proverbs spread,

A challenge to the hearts of men, a love for wives unsaid.

And maybe, just maybe, as the message took its hold,

A tapestry of love's embrace, in homes both young and old.