No Title

by Liliandil
(New Jersey)

Her pots are shiny and
her pans are clean
Her hair tied back as to avoid,
though it seems

The stove is turned on and
the burners: red hot
She pours in the strands,
enough for a lot.

Her children play quietly
to help her get done
She thanks them in her mind
with a smile like the sun

Her husband walks inside and
smells the fragrant meal
He knows she's been working,
for his leisure, with a zeal

She wants them to know
her days are not too hard
Because the work of a mother
is the most pleasant by far.