Mother-Fed.
On sun-honeyed cottage walls another day
knocks and ousts from bed every duty-clad
mother to wake snoring offspring and move
bread-winning others.
As whinny of seabreeze shakes budl-drop
on frothy trees ravelled bed-sheets leave
sweating bodies, crumple floor-wards and
stretching offspring wriggle toes as yawns
mist morning\'s wonders.
Kitchened in throb of breakfast-sizzle old
dog squints at dawn and whimpers at call
from white-aproned bustle, hobbles out
whining at chatter of hob-blackened pot
as brown tea rouses cobbled-clog rush
to scoop buttered bread then pocketed
for hunger\'s staving.
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
boat sways bobbing in wait.
Olden-day clippered sails, ocean harboured
held filled holds of battened-down business
for woman-fed boat-men, ready-sluiced and
home-muffled, handled a hauled cargo best
in unruffled water.
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 be son, father or daughter.
Praise be for unrivaled female dedication to
successful survival of the closely knit family
whether near warm hearthside or out at sea.