Callouses and dry hands
Untidy hair
Untidy hair
Work your fingers to the bone
And wonder who cares
Time was a new age
While the cold war
And politics raged
Women trudged
With a smile
Making life worth while
Callouses and dry hands
Untidy hair
Work your fingers to the bone
And wonder who cares.
On her tombstone
Words very clear
"Housewife, Loved and Dear"
"Of course I can" killed her
18 comments:
haha....yes we can... oy... sometimes we all i think in our business should take some time off to recharge batteries and relax a bit - a no we can't is the right answer sometimes...
If the world was run by women it would be a much better place! We should always remember there are only 24 hours in the day though.Your poem seems to sum it up well.
Lynne x
back when, my mother looked just like this and i was her helper canning all those jars of food to feed us. i was raised in 1944 on cans of Carnation milk. daddy worked as a meat cutter and made very little money, but he got a case of Carnation as part of his pay.. this brings back a lot of memories, the poem and the pic.. it was a really hard life... and it did plant the women in an early grave...
You are soooo good, (as poet) and probably at (yes we can!)
Know when to say no!
Of course, for that kind of work, so few would say yes today.
ouch. there is a subtle wisdom in this....we can not do everything or it will surely drive us to an early grave...and then what will they do since you always did it for them?
she just kept going, and going, and going.....
Kudos to those women who did all they can without the modern conveniences ~ I think its good we can step back and say we need a break ~
i like how you always dip to the dark side. :)
Very nice take on the concept... isn't it true of women? One of my principals used to say, "If you want to get something done, ask a busy woman!"
Oh that was tough life... working yourself to death.. good use of slogan and great juxtaposition to harsh realities
Yes, so true, they did it all, non-stop, seven days a week. It was expected, it's what did, worked yourself to the bone. I remember my mother being sick in bed and dad asking her what she was going to make for supper. We've come a long way, baby. But sadly, in winning what we have, some of the really good stuff was also lost, like the freedom to stay home and be a wife and mother and take care of things there instead of heading off to work.. and then coming home to do it all!
Wonderful little piece, Gail.
Remember to be careful. :-)
Wise words Gail. Sometimes working our fingers to the bone can be the death of us...
Anna :o]
LOL! Good one.
Yes, and then we are all next!
Still getting the calluses off...
Reality Again.
Point well said and taken!
I think I've written this poem a couple of times myself.
With different words, of course.
But it surely resonates with me.
=)
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