rockabye-ing my baby

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth, empty the dustpan, poison the moth,

hang out the washing and butter the bread, sew on a button and make up a bed.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?

She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

..........................................................................................................

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,

for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.

So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.

I'm rocking my baby cause babies don't keep.

by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton