The Housewife

Here is the House to hold me — cradle of all the race; Here is my lord and my love, here are my children dear — Here is the House enclosing, the dear-loved dwelling place; Why should I ever weary for aught that I find not here? Here for the hours of the day and the hours of the night; Bound with the bands of Duty, rivetted tight; Duty older than Adam — Duty that saw Acceptance utter and hopeless in the eyes of the serving squaw. Food and the serving of food — that is my daylong care; What and when we shall eat, what and how we shall wear; Soiling and cleaning of things — that is my task in the main — Soil them and clean them and soil them — soil them and clean them again. To work at my trade by the dozen and never a trade to know; To plan like a Chinese puzzle — fitting and changing so; To think of a thousand details, each in a thousand ways; For my own immediate people and a possible love and praise. My mind is trodden in circles, tiresome, narrow and hard, Useful, commonplace, private — simply a small back-yard; And I the Mother of Nations! — Blind their struggle and vain! — I cover the earth with my children — each with a housewife's brain.