A Song Of Motherhood

Sew, sew, sew! For there’s many a rent to mend; There’s a stitch to take and a dress to make, For where do her labors end? Sew, sew, sew! For a rent in a dress she spies, Then it’s needle and thread and an aching head And see how the needle flies!

Brush, brush, brush! For there’s many a boy to clean, And start to school with a slate and rule, With a breakfast to get between. Comb, comb, comb! In the minute she has to spare, For what is so wild--unreconciled As the wastes of a youngster’s hair?

Sweep, sweep, sweep! Oh, follow the flashing broom, And with towel bound her forehead round She goes from room to room. Dust, dust, dust! As down on her knees she kneels, For there’s much to do in the hour or two Of interval ’twixt meals.

Bake, bake, bake! For the cookie jar piled high But yesterday in some curious way Is empty again, Oh my! Stir, stir, stir, in the froth of yellow and white, For well she knows how the story goes Of a small boy’s appetite.

Scrub, scrub, scrub! For the floor that was spick and span, Alas, alack! has a muddy track Where some thoughtless youngster ran. Splash, splash, splash! For the dishes of thrice a day Are piled up high to wash and dry And put on the shelves away.

Patch, patch, patch! And oh for a pantaloon That would not tear or rip or wear In the course of an afternoon! Patch, patch, patch! And see how the needle flies, For a mother knows how the fabric goes Where the seat of trouble lies.

Toil, toil, toil! For when do her labors end, With a dress to make and a cake to bake And dresses and hose to mend? Stew, stew, stew! Fret and worry and fuss, And who of us knows of the frets and woes In the days when she mothered us?