Monday, November 10, 2008

Babies Don't Keep

When the laundry's piled up and the floor is sticky (again). When I'm wearing Ollie for the 25th hour of the day and Nern wants to dig up "wocks" I think of this...

Song for a Fifth Child

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

--Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

2 comments:

T.J.'s Mommy said...

This is soo sweet! I feel that much better about the unpacked boxes, unmopped floor, and unshowered mommy! :)

Katie said...

I think that is the sweetest poem I have ever read!