Some things, like space, with all its sundry duties,
come with every human's territory,
and for a few, who grace their space with beauties
sweet, serene, the home's a field of glory.
I am human, too, and tread on floors
which must be swept to clear a space to think.
We all do all, but each from different cores
of strength from which to work; mine's not the sink
or vacuum. Eve herself did not at first
have clothes to wash; I do because she shares
as help meet in the woes with which man's cursed.
But these are human, not just female cares.
We each must have our own ill-fitting labor,
as well as strengths with which to help our neighbor.
A sonnet for St. Benedict
5 days ago