The Book Vine

I sincerely love and admire Edgar A. Guest and shall share a poem of his with you this lovely Monday.

Ballad of Woman's Lot

These are matters of mome small:
Whether the soup be burned or no,
Hair in papers when visitors call,
Bills too high and the purse too low,
Is it for children a proper show?
How can steak for the meal be got?
What to do for a stone-bruised toe?
Yet all are part of a woman's lot!

Man would flee from these troubles all:
Wehre do the new baked cookies go?
Thumb prints smeared on the parlor wall,
Stockings to mend and buttons to sew,
What of the clock, is it fast or slow?
A new cloth spoiled by an inky spot,
A baseball knocked where the zinnias grow,
Yet all are part of a woman's lot!

Into a megrim a man would fall
If he had worries like these to know:
Roller skates left in the dim-lit hall,
Books to be placed in a perfect row,
Birthday and wedding gifts to bestow,
Care of platter and pan and pot,
A victory garden to water and hoe!
Yet all are part of a woman's Lot!

Envoi!
Prince, the braggarts who loudest blow
Would faint through weather be cold or hot
Were life such troubles at them to throw
Yet all are part of a woman's lot!