Wisewoman

Now dusk has fallen over Earth, I sit 
And try to count my worldly gains again. 
So while my stocks are full and free from blight 
In twisted thoughts I can delight
To think of potions, balms, but not to cure –  
To give them pains and alms and shakes! 
This realm is mine, here to stay - forever. 
To reject requests … ‘Why, me? Not ever!’ 
  
I crush and mix and boil and stir, I grind 
And toss and hand-tools whirr. The clash of dish 
And cup and tool – a din to lure and bait -  
And fool. 
  
The ladies grin and sing my praise, they know 
I know their needs and more. But when they tire 
Of their spouse, they plead, they beg, they say ‘Do more.’ 
  
But when a price becomes too dear, this weight, 
This guilt becomes too hard to lug alone -  
They turn in spite and clean their hands in fear, 
They make their hatred very clear. To be a fixer, 
To be an aide, to be an old crone, or hidden maid, 
To have the whole wide world suspecting you -  
What, pray tell, are you to do?