The drudgery of house work gets on to my nerves
The endless routine of dishes and brooms,
Like a pan thorn it follows at each faltering step.
At your side like a giant it silently comes,
From morning till evening it never grows tired,
Each moment it’s with you to burry you more,
If you think you will rest for a minute or two.
This old gran and buggery stalks in at the door,
From Monday right on to the end of the week,
Its hurry and bristle just keep on the run.
For the children must live and the men folks must eat,
Who said that a poor woman’s work was never done?
But I live with the hope that a genius will come,
And take this old world by storm,
That he’ll invent a machine that will start in the night,
And have the wash done in the morn.
Also bring in the clothes press and put them away,
Scrub up the floor and shine the stove,
And depart at the end of the day.
Katherine Carey-Place 1878-1934
Copyright Roy Richard