My home is an old-fashioned home
Where portraits hanging on the walls
Are of the little ones who roam
And play at will within its halls;
And where a greater King than I,
Enthroned, is first to catch the eye.
Where she, my queen, is still the core
Of life and warmth the whole day through
To whom my children can outpour
Their aches and longings, old and new
Learn life from mother no one less
Not from a maid or governess.
Where little feet still run to meet
Their father coming home from work
With cries that lift up one's conceit
Be he a king or common clerk;
No longer will they watch the street
The family is again complete
And where, as if we have just started
To live again, we're all together
Boisterous and single-hearted
All in orbit around mother
In the kitchen, yard or other places
Her brood of dear, demanding faces.
Perhaps our ways seem silly and strange
In this jet, atomic, beatnik age
But, what do we get in exchange?
Only goods that know no earthly gauge
That elusive, modern golden fleece---
Old-fashioned oneness, love and peace.
(25-1-61)
(dedicated to: my wife in particular all housewives in general)