The Housewife’s Lament
Oh what’s the use of working and slaving,
I might as well be resting, and saving
My strength and energy for something better,
Letting time hang on my hands like a fetter!
I sweep and dust and dust again,
And I dust some more, and I wish for rain.
Here go the wagons and automobiles,
Bicycles and everything else on wheels;
Each seems trying out run the other—
What care THEY for dust—let the women bother!
And here it comes in lovely (?) clouds,
Everything in the house it enshrouds.
You can write your name just anywhere,
On piano and sofa, on table and chair.
The men talk about us playing rook,
I’d much rather stay home and read a book,
Out on the porch where the cool winds blow—
But the dust is so fearful, I daren’t do so.
Some day perhaps in the mind of man,
Will e conceived a most wonderful plan
Of how to get rid of the dust in Monroe,
Then it’s “goodby dust,” for you’ll have to go.
We hope the time will not be long,
When the housewife’s lament will change to a song,
When Monroe will be full to overflowing
Of nice new people who come here knowing,
That on the pure air no dust will rise,
But Monroe, at last is a Paradise.