Hands planted on her lap, looking at the wrinkles
Reminds her of the days she spent on her knees
Watching the houses and the trees
Looking so young but feeling so old
She does her daily do’s
Stirring and pouring
Waxing and washing
Thriving for hers
Doing what she has to
To make what she can
This was never part of her plan
A poor colored girl living in the white man’s land
She so confused born in this world prepared to lose
Subjected to live a life she would never choose