The sportsman has his trophies, the academics their awards.

The world has its tinsel that glitters, and all adores. What have I my Lord? What have I?

The children off to school, my husband off to work. Where am I to go, my Lord? Where am I to go? Marching off to battle the dishes, in the sink!

The world speaks of “achievement,” and doing one’s “own thing.” This fulfillment means divorcing hearth, and children for finer things.
Such words as “domestic,” have gone out with the tide. So trot along little children, as clay without the potter,         or boat without its sail.
It’s true, I’m just a housewife. There’s some things that money cannot buy. It’s the special moments spent molding, the precious little lives.