Enslaved to faltering seed and spouse
With only a dread of poverties withering The women of the loom and hearth
The mothers and sisters of yesteryear
The raggedy women with curlered hair
They had neither evil intent nor ambition
And they had no awkwardness of the world
No selfish fears to enslave them to vulgarity
And ever polite, yet resolute; they endured
And it seemed they were simple to the world
But it was all an intricate deception
They could look to sky and say it would snow
Warm coats by a fire they rose at 5am to build
They fed us with the desperation of she-wolves
And never once did we feel we were reduced
And the women of the loom and hearth
Though it could seem they are lost to us now
Are ready to return again when they are needed
