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?