In a village shaded by the ancients, Lived Alma, a woman of grace and patience. Her skin, rich as the earth's dark hue, Held the stories of struggles she rue. Each dawn, she rose with the sun's first light, Her heart a drum, her spirit a might. She walked to the river, her jug on her head, Bearing life's burdens with a quiet tread. The path was long, through forest and glade,