Classic Poem

She never even stops to think
What she is doing here —
But scrubs potatoes at the sink
Or fetches William's beer,

Or baths their six young bairns and mends
Their clothes with weary eyes
Throughout a day that barely ends
Before it's time to rise:

And she'll be much too tired to heed
In the grave's secure retreat,
When there's no longer any need
Of making both ends meet.