|
She
toils away on her old stove
on grease so stubbornly bestowed,
her fingers ground near to the bone
moods weigh upon her, heavy as stone
Endless work fills up her day
leaves little time for idle play,
the children's toys left where they lay
none think of her wants, anyway
The daily keeping of the home
is all the life she's ever known,
it never stops, she's overrun
a woman's work is never done
What drudgery there is discerned
a life that most would surly spurn,
submitting to these awful terms
each day repeats as the world turns
Now she sits limply in her chair
exhaustion seen in her blank stare,
time quickly goes, she knows not where
another day, on wing and prayer.
© d.knape
May 12, 2015
More "Once Upon A Line" - Light verse
and poetry by d.knape
More on Mothers
Related Topics: Columns |
People
| Texas Towns | Texas
|
