The Housewife

The Verse-Book Of A Homely Woman, by Fay Inchfawn

 

The Housewife

See, I am cumbered, Lord,
   With serving, and with small vexa-
     tious things.
Upstairs, and down, my feet
Must hasten, sure and fleet.
So weary that I cannot heed Thy word;
So tired, I cannot now mount up with
     wings.
I wrestle — how I wrestle! — through the
     hours.
Nay, not with principalities, nor powers —
Dark spiritual foes of God’s and man’s —
But with antagonistic pots and pans:
With footmarks in the hall,
With smears upon the wall,
With doubtful ears, and small unwashen
     hands,
And with a babe’s innumerable demands.

I toil with feverish haste, while tear-drops
     glisten,

(O, child of mine, be still. And listen —
     listen!)

At last, I laid aside
Important work, no other hands could do
So well (I thought), no skill contrive so
     true.
And with my heart’s door open — open
     wide —
With leisured feet, and idle hands, I sat.
I, foolish, fussy, blind as any bat,
Sat down to listen, and to learn. And lo,
My thousand tasks were done the better so.

 

Fleeces…

I start to love this time of year when lambs fleeces are growing long and wavy.  They’ve been nourished all season long on mother’s milk and tender sweet grasses, and are headed into fall looking beautiful.

 

A trio of color...

A variety of color...

 

A black grey ram and black badgerface ram in the background...

A black grey ram and black badgerface ram in the background...

 

A moorit gray mouflon ram...

A moorit gray mouflon ram...

 

Grazing...

 

A black spotted ewe...

A black spotted ewe...

 

A black grey ewe...

A black grey ewe...

 

A fluffy moorit ewe...

A fluffy moorit ewe...

 

Shades of black...

Shades of black...