Hum songs, handsome women —

Clap the hand that rocks the cradle.

Defy death’s old rusted ploughs;

Wipe mothers’ wet pillow books.

Pluck sweet late-blooming flowers;

Make confessions in the night.

Order senseless, frangible hours;

Tell stories of sunrise, sunsets.

Note patterns of light, lines of flight —

Sew all together before after.

Seek beauty, womenfolk — be free.

. . . . .

Poet: Susan Powers Bourne
Source: Women.Poets | Pennsylvania