Mother, oh Mother
come shake out your cloth,
empty the dustpan,
poison the moth,
hang out the washing
and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house
is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery,
blissfully rocking.
Oh, I've grown shiftless as
Little Boy Blue.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due.
The shopping's not done
and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
The cleaning and scrubbing
will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up,
as I've learned through my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs.
Dust, go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep...
Poem written by Ruth Hulbert Hamilton
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this is so tender... and so true. our children are growing up too fast, and lately i have been really overwhelmed by all the "work" it takes to run our family and house. thanks for the poem :)
ReplyDeletenice poem miss,and u r lookin incredible
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