The Housewife’s
Lament
“Bebe”
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.
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