I was born in an old cottage of clay with mud and falling leaves that decay. The home where my poor family dwell. There my brothers were crying for bread. "Just give me some breakfast!", they all said. Momma look in despair, we are hungry; we don't care! My children this is hard, I cannot bare Only I know what my misery is And what poverty is. only the poor people may know what poverty is in this old cottage of clay

There's a constant war going on in my head. And I'm going to share with you the struggle that I go through everyday trying to maintain control and balance. Do hope you enjoy