Monday, January 7, 2013


Don’t cover me with sympathetic eyes
Poor housewife bound to kitchen sink and broom’
These are but mechanics of a room
They do not speak of home’s sweet paradise

The housewife, though her coffers boast no gold
Does not despise her role of unsung bliss
For she is paid in sticky toast-crumb kiss
And treasures that only a heart can hold

No PhD or credits deck the walls
But joy and happiness are not of these
Pink mitten waves and mother-memories
Echo within love’s fingerprinted halls

Oh humble haven, sweet and simply spun
She counts her blessings, not of worldly worth
Yet her wealth is the fairest of the earth
As from her door her happy children run

© Janet Martin

My hubby chuckled as he watched my eyes well with tears (tears of simple contentment) as Victoria waved vigorously from the bus window; a tradition since my oldest kids left on the school bus-there was always someone to take up the wave…and I said thank-you to him for allowing me to be at home. These are treasure I wouldn’t trade for the world. I told him that I really don’t care if there are no tropical vacations, (because a single income is strained to the max every month, and he apologizes sometimes for all we cannot do). I don’t care if we lack in ‘stuff’. By the grace of God we have enough.

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