MOMMA

MOMMA

Oh, I love my momma,
She's the reason I'm alive.
Her total love for me
Has made her struggle and strive.

Jesus had a momma
Who bore him in a cave.
She couldn't help but love him
From his birth to the grave.

Should I hang on the highest hill,
My momma would be there.
I know her love would follow me,
My Angel of despair.

Her hair is now all silver,
As I hold her fingers, worn.
Oh, God, bless this wrinkled brow,
From whose body I was born.

By Tom Zart
Author of
LOVE WAR AND MORE