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great poem for those of us who feel overwhelmed

faithfulfaithfaithfulfaith member
in Babies: 0 - 3 Months
Song for a Fifth Child Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth Empty the dustpan, poison the moth, Hang out the washing and butter the bread, Sew on a button and make up a bed. Where is the mother whose house is so shocking? She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking. Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue (lullaby, rock-a-bye, Lullaby loo). Dishes are waiting and bills are past due (pat-a-cake, darling, and peek-peek-a-boo). The shopping is not done and there's nothing for stew And out in the yard there is a hullabaloo. But I'm playing "Kanga" and this is my "Roo." Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue? (lullaby, rock-a-bye, lullaby loo). The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow, For children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow. So quiet down cobwebs. Dust go to sleep. I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep. Ruth Hulburt Hamilton, 1958
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Re: great poem for those of us who feel overwhelmed

  • brown_bride07brown_bride07 member
    lovely and SOO true
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  • mrs.kapowmrs.kapow
    Made me all teary!
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  • PubStar09PubStar09 member

    Reformatted so it's easier to read:

     

    Song for a Fifth Child
    Ruth Hulburt Hamilton, 1958

    Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
    Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
    Hang out the washing and butter the bread,
    Sew on a button and make up a bed.
    Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
    She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.
    Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue (lullaby, rock-a-bye, Lullaby loo).
    Dishes are waiting and bills are past due (pat-a-cake, darling, and peek-peek-a-boo).
    The shopping is not done and there's nothing for stew
    And out in the yard there is a hullabaloo.
    But I'm playing "Kanga" and this is my "Roo."
    Look! Aren't his eyes the most wonderful hue? (lullaby, rock-a-bye, lullaby loo).
    The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
    For children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
    So quiet down cobwebs.
    Dust go to sleep. I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

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  • cynnichinny13cynnichinny13
    that poem is perfect. i would do something artsy with it and put it in the nursery... if i had time to :)
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