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WIMIN'S WORK, by             Poem Explanation         Poet's Biography
First Line: She wan't like ede er kate er them
Last Line: Up ter the day she died.
Subject(s): African Americans - Women


She wan't like Ede er Kate er them,
With pith and thigh fer work
From one week's end ter 't'other, though
There wan't a thing she'd shirk

If it wuz wimin's work; an', fit er not,
She made no blat
An' that we knowed; but, John wan't one
Ter let it go at that.

Daise come from over Slab Hill way
Where John bought most of his sheep
Of old Jed Dunn, an', courtin' her,
He 'umored her a heap;

But when John brung her hum he sot
Ter break her in ter do
The outdoor chores that Hen had done,
Though 't'wan't much pay Hen drew,

Him bein' let out by the 'Squire
Ter help along the School, --
Hen bein' on the town fer alms
An more'n half a fool; --

So, Daise, she told John how it wuz:
'T'wuz wimin's work ter bake;
Ter wash an' iron; scrub an' mend;
An' hayin' time she'd rake

An' milk; an' take the biddies on
An' tend the lambs an' calves
The whole year round, fer men ware rough
An' tended them by halves;

But fence rails he would hev ter drag;
An' he would hev ter lug
The water; cut an' haul the wood;
An' rocks she wouldn't tug

Fer clearin' ner fer mendin' walls.
Daise sot ter make things plain
Ter John, who'd yoked his temper ter
A nut-gall crossed in grain.

Then old Ed's Boy, he told a tale
As how John licked of Daise;
John held Daise by her yaller hair
An' holler'd fit ter craze!

M's Bartlett, hearin' of the talk,
Decided she would go
Avisitin' of John an' Daise --
Git what there wuz ter know!

But, John, he gaff'd an' scratch'd fer Daise
Like a rooster fer his hen,
An' said of Grace, an' prayed at night
An' read a Chapter then.

An' when M's Bartlett went, John driv'
Her hum, as nice as pie,
An' asked her would she come agin --
She said she thought she'd fly!

Then vapors got aholt of Daise:
'Twuz when the hay was cut
An' John had men ahayin' there
An' driv her like a slut.

She claimed the pointed firs that run
On round the Upper Field
Stood there like sentinels by day,
But riz at dusk an' reeled

All night aback an' for'ards, like
A whip wuz on their backs;
That screech owls ware but poor lost souls
The devil toused on racks;

An' things like that; an' then she took
The notion God let fall
A seed an' made of her a flower
That waited of His call.

An', John, he couldn't make her budge, --
Though Sade said that he tried,
An' Luke did, tew, who worked fer him, --
Up ter the day she died.





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