A Woman’s Work


A woman's work is never done,
Not even with the set of Sun,
Her hand's are busy with her toil,
Even as the late lamp burns it's oil,

She cleans the cobwebs from every nook,
From every shelf, from every book,
Her eyes aglow in the dim light,
She works and works all through the night,

Her heart a servants, to God and man,
She does her best and gives all
she can,
The poor she feeds from her last scrap,
She stretches things and darns things on her lap,

She plants a vineyard from her green thumb,
Careful to nurture it, so she can always share some,
Ships come from afar, to buy her wares,
She packs all her baskets, and pays all her fares,

Her beloved husband trusts in her,
Her children call her blessed,
She's the Wife of Noble Character,
If you have not yet -- this guessed.

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