A MOTHER'S REQUIEM

Here lies a poor woman,
Who died from exhaustion,
In her life she could never have
Her hands crossed over her lap.1

In this valley of cloth and soap,
I'll go as I have come,
No more luck than the obligation,
Higher pay than oblivion.

Hallelujah, I'm moving to a place,
Where nothing ever gets dirty.

No one will ask me to feed them,
In my final resting place,
I won't have to iron nor sow,
As if I were condemned.

Angels sing 'round,
This eternal scullery maid,
And they change her towel,2
For a crown.

Do not mourn this poor woman,
Because she's on her way,
To a place where there's no sweeping,
Where there's no kitchen.

Hallelujah, this poor
Blessed woman,
She has nothing more to do now,
And she does nothing more now.