Floors scrubbed, beds made,
Food’s steaming on the plate.
The washing’s hung up to dry,
Under the warmth of the sunlight.
Her work is almost never done,
Scrub, scrub, dust, dust,
She works like a man.
The blinding shining of the glasses,
The steam of iron as she passes.
The stitches carefully made,
By skilful hands of your housemaid.
The soil in flowers is never dry,
And on the table - steaming pie.
The scent of washing spreads throughout,
It fills the house with warmth and love.
Yet housework is not appreciated,
By many people. Unrelated.
They say the work is nothing special,
Not realising, how very gentle
The housewives feel about their chores.
And yet the only ones, who know,
Hard work the women undergo,
Are walls surrounding them all time,
Protecting mistress of removing grime.
Work of a housewife
© Copyright: Дитрих Фрэй, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111111801250
Свидетельство о публикации №111111801250
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