There is twine from the sheep, a blanket for sleep
Where the little children lay at peace
Mother working, has carpets to sweep
The dust lay around from the struggle she keeps
Farmer comes home late after toiling the ground
Creeping in silently not making a sound
Crawls in bed, it is half past nine
Clothes are still hanging on the washing line
Up at four o’clock the next day is new
Precious times now may be short or few
A love of strength, a hope in heart
The weather is grim yet rain doth start
Poppies bring hope, from an angels harp.
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