I’m sure many a mother must ask:
“How did I get here?
Where did this job come from?
It’s so overworked and so underpaid;
There are so little thanks,
There are noses to wipe,
Dirty hands on the walls,
Crying voices, never a moment to be alone”
Dirty dishes in an empty kitchen,
All have run off as soon as the food is gone.
Finally, night comes and I am alone,
Things are tidy once again,
Only to start over the next day to the same routine,
Where I ask is the thanks?
Does anyone see what I am doing?
Does anyone care?
I hear a still small voice saying,
“My child, I know you are here,
For this is where I have called you.
Your work is my work,
Your reward you will have some day,
I thank you for serving me in this way;
Each nose you wiped, you did it unto Me.
The times you wanted to be alone.
I was there to help you.
The kitchen…empty after a meal?
Mother it was not empty, for I was there with you.
I did not run off and leave you,
The thanks, my child is in your hands,
Do you see what you did today?
You cared…and Mother,
You did a job well done.
Patricia Hamel © 1980
