Granny
Here, in her elbow chair, she sits
A soul alert, alive,
A poor old body shrunk and bent -
The queen-bee of the hive.
But hives of bees and hives of men
Obey their several laws;
No fiercely-loving filial throng
This mother-head adores.
This bringer of world-wealth, whereof
None may compute the worth,
Is possibly of no account
To anyone on earth.
Her cap and spectacles, that mean
Dim eyes and scanty hairs,
The humble symbols of her state -
The only crown she wears.
Lacking a kingdom and a court,
A relic of the past,
Almost a cumberer of the ground -
That is our queen at last.
But still not wholly without place,
Nor quite bereft of power;
A useful stopgap - a resource
In many a troubled hour.
She darns the stockings, keeps the house,
The nurseless infant tends,
While the young matrons and the men
Pursue their various ends -
Too keen-set on their great affairs,
Or little plays and pranks,
The things and people of their world,
To give her thought or thanks -
The children on whom all her thought
And time and love were spent
Through half a century of years!
Yet is she well content.
The schooling of those fiery years,
It has not been for nought;
A large philosophy of life
Has self-less service taught.
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poem by Ada Cambridge
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