Momma Knows

Momma knows the stone pits like hell.

Shredded feet amble along as on eggshells.

Blistered hands with lamps held tight,

She cracked and crashed till daylight.

Her soul would fare better with sunlight.

To see her soles avoid the rocks, they fight.

But no other choice does she have.

She has to feed her many young.

When judgment day finally comes along,

Does the Good Lord ask if you run away?

Your soul to say, many stones I did carve?