Woman
Sharon Moemise
Her hands are rough, her nails chapped
the lines on her face etched, uncountable.
She rubs her hip and scratches her arms
dry from daily chores and lack of sleep
She sits a while on a bench in the sun
to catch a moment\'s catnap.
Then suddenly she jumps up
the kids will be home soon,
her husband yelling for attention.
Scuttling from one corner to the next,
Always smiling at her family as she does
Kids are home, bursting with complaints
expecting miracles, receiving wonders
Not once stopping to say \"thank you\".
She is a woman with hope and intuition
She nurtures, she gives, and never receives
She expects none, because she\'s a woman, a wife
Never forgetting, that above all, she\'s a mother