Woman-Fed.
On sun-honeyed cottage walls another day
knocks and ousts from beds frock-flouncing
mothers to awaken offspringing snores of
bread-winning others.
As whinny of Spring shakes petal-drop on
frothy-green trees unravelled sheets leave
sweaty bodies, crumple floor-wards then
stretching sons wriggle toes before yawns
mist the windowed morning.
Kitchened in throb of breakfast-sizzle old
dog squints at dawn and whimpers when
moved by white-aproned bustle, hobbles
outside for nature\'s call as whining kettle
chatters for hob-balckened pot and brown
tea rouses a cobble-clogged rush to scoop
buttered bread-chunks in pockets for late
morning mid-labour nibbles.
Day offers no wind as man-feet splash mud
in pooling slop along early streets, stopping
to rub bleary eyes and fasten old coatstrings
before reaching tar-skewered beached craft,
close-roped for action swabbed decks ready
to heave toward big breakers.
Olden-day clippered sails, ocean harboured
held large holds of battened-down business
for woman-fed boat-men, hand-sluiced and
home-made-clad lads handled hauled cargo
best in whisper-tide waters.
Decades ago hard living meant mothers held
ropes together at home and gave no heed to
complaint from fine-weather seekers but set
zealous fire under all lazy dalliance whether
it\'s son, father or daughter for behind every
morning lay day\'s vital matters.
Praise be for unrivaled female dedication to
family survival at hearth-side or sea.