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Listen to the words of the woman
whispering while the wind
whips around the window panes.
She sings softly to the night,
rocking the wooden cradle
with hands worn hard with work.
Listen to her music in the morning.
She sings while the sun rises
across the mist covered moors.
She croons a magical melody
over melted cheese sandwiches
and mugs of steaming milk.
Listen to her faster tune in the afternoon
as she feeds foliage to the livestock,
fertilizes her flower garden,
fixes chocolate chip cookies for the children,
fries chicken pieces in deep fat,
finishes up the weekly wash.
Listen to the words of the woman.
Listen to her melodies.
Listen to the lilt of her voice
as she moves among the men,
among the small children,
among the many animals.
Listen to the words of the woman.
