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#when daddy builds a fire – @woodelf68 on Tumblr
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Here There Be Unicorns

@woodelf68 / woodelf68.tumblr.com

Female, Michigan. Currently deeply invested in the happiness of space vikings. Also Robert Carlyle fandom and anything that makes me smile or laugh. Expect fluffy animals. Will tag for blocking upon request.
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When Daddy Builds A Fire

(A poem for all the hardworking wives and mothers out there that I assume my mom had cut out of a magazine, sent in by a reader from Virginia who had found it amongst her mother's papers. And no offense meant to all the husbands and dads who pitch in and do their share of the work; I know you guys exist too. @ahedderick, I believe you will relate?)

When Daddy builds the kitchen fire, he hustles through the rooms,

And slams the doors and bangs the screens and in the kitchen glooms,

And whangs the kindlings into bits and lumbers up the coal,

And pours a little coal oil on – the smoke begins to roll; 

And then he hies him to the porch and with a martyr’s air

He sinks with sighs and groans into the amplest easy chair,

And elevates his weary feet above his weary head

And figures, figures, figures, and wishes he were dead.

Then Mother comes and gets the broom and brushes up the muss,

And sets the table quietly without a bit of fuss, 

And makes the toast and boils the eggs and dips the coffee clear,

And calls us in to breakfast with her voice all full of cheer,

And makes the beds and scrubs the floor and picks up all our things,

And washes all the dishes, and answers all the rings,

And goes and gets the garden truck and makes Jeff Davis pie,

And puts the dinner on to cook, the doughnuts on to fry, 

And stuffs the raisin pickles, and boils some corn to can, 

And sweeps the walks and skims the milk and mends a leaky pan, 

And hunts the checks Dad couldn’t find and gets my hat for me,

And spreads the cloth and serves the meal and bathes my swollen knee,

And washes all the dishes up and shells some butter beans, 

And kills and plucks some chickens, and all the silver cleans, 

And gets the supper underway and cans a little fruit, 

And makes me take a bath, alas! and lays me out a suit, 

And telephones the cleaners to come for Daddy’s coat, 

And tells the suffragette ladies “No, she doesn’t want to vote.”

Meanwhile, recumbent on the couch, slumbers my peaceful sire, 

For Daddy thinks the world’s work done when he has built the fire. 

-- Author unknown

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