Africa is warm, but she is cold,
a beautiful young mother is growing old.
It is hunger and pain she fears,
and the death of her baby she holds so dear.
"Lord," she begs with her sad brown eyes,
"please care for my baby when he dies."
She has no more breast milk she can give,
so her baby has a chance to live.
Holding her baby against her chest,
She feels his frail body rest.
Slowly silence engulfs the hill,
and her little baby lies cold and still.
Only tears, no words are said,
as she lays her baby in his earthly bed.
If only love were enough to survive,
her little baby would be alive.