Yesterday

Years are stepping stones,
Since mother was a girl.
Without electric washers,
To give the clothes a whirl.

Only a metal wash-board,
To dabble out the duds.
As her weary...back bent over,
A tub of billowy suds.

A boiler...hot and steaming,
For this way whitened most.
Before the clothes were pinned,
On line...like weird ghosts.

Today...our automatic urge,
Reflects those years of sweat.
If gratefulness was not so strong,
We would likely all forget.

E.P. 1908 - 1989