She can't do it all, but she does.
How do two hands build a life?
Does she do it on her own?
How does she get up each morning
to a life that she's creating all alone?
Try to make a life before the sun sets.
The day is only as long as the light.
How can one simple woman
do the work of twenty men?
Will there ever be the time to get it right?
It's not her.
It's her daughter's smiling face.
It's not her.
It's God's love and driving grace.
It's the man who thinks she made the stars
and twirls her under them.
It's not her. It's not her...
It's her love for them.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem