The Charwoman
If only 'twere not Christmas Eve,
Nor bright other places,
Nor loaded the boards I perceive,
Nor happy the faces,
And not so wretched at home,
And none of this whining
And begging for bread when I come
By little cheeks pining
Today for hunger again.
To deeply depress me!
If they, who forget now my pain,
Could see it distress me!
Too listlessly come I and go;
All dirty I never
Must faint in the twilight glow
But toil on forever.
Six children I have to relieve--
How blanched are their faces!
If only 'twere not Christmas Eve,
Nor bright other places!
poem by Carmen Sylva
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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