She worked from morning 'til the sun went down
and never did complain.
She earned some money but not enough.
It became her private pain.
How do you feed four children
and keep your bills all paid?
You beg, you steal, you borrow
and your life you trade.
For to watch your children slowly starve
and know they'll be taken away
fills you with dread and so instead
you get down on your knees and pray.
And when that doesn't seem to work
you do unreasonable things.
You sell your body and your soul
to the rich and mighty kings.
You close your eyes and try to forget
what it is you do.
You accept the shame and all the blame
and feed them heartbreak stew.
There is no right. There is no wrong.
There are just four kids to feed.
You work all night 'til the sun comes up
and buy the food they need.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem