Busy Day

All day I hoe or dig or rake
Or sweep or dust or sew
Or wash my clothes or iron or bake
Or watch the garden grow,

Until by night I realize
That work, although required,
Must be a blessing in disguise:
I’m so pleasurably tired.

June 9, 1940


Housewife’s Lament

Dishes to wash, floors to sweep,
When I would so much rather keep
A rendezvous with an ivy vine
Out in the golden spring sunshine.

Mocking bird on lofty bough
Calls to me–just hear him now!
But here am I, still dusting chairs
And sweeping cobwebs from the stairs.

Oh, to be as free and gay–
‘Specially on an April day–
As a rippling mountain rill
Or the wildflowers on the hill!

May 7, 1939


Often at my work I’ve thought and planned,
My heart soaring off to some enchanted land.
I’ve wandered far and far away
From this, our world of toil and play,
Until at last my roaming Gypsy mind,
Returning from those glamorous lands,
Is startled, wonderstruck to find
I’ve done so little with my hands!

January 24, 1937