THE LITTLE WOMEN

And they were there, too,

Mothers, sisters and daughters,

Stoking the fires of chill winter morns,

Baking bread, frying the potatoes

Hugging you safely close

When thunder clouds rolled in,

Kissing away the tears of tragedy.

Mom, healing the cuts and bruises,

Cleaning, sweeping, dusting, too…

Typing, shorthand and filing cards,

Never a thought of equal pay,

Just glad to be able to say,

“I can buy my own clothes now.”