This woman’s work begins ‘fore dawn.
That’s when I put his coffee on.

And then I feed my hungry man
With grease drowned eggs from a fryin’ pan.

With bacon sliced from fatback pork
And grits so thick you need a fork.

His attitude can turn right mean
If fatback bacon is too lean.

He wolfs it down and grabs his hat
It’s still so dark, it’d blind a cat.

I grab the broom and sweep the floor,
He pecks my cheek, then out the door.

He brags his wife gets up ‘fore dawn
To clean the house and mow the lawn.

As soon as he is out the door,
I drop the broom and sweep no more.

I jump in bed too tired to yawn,
I’ll sleep until the soaps come on.

Some friends of ours, Andy and Nancy Hunger, brought me a poem about a ranchers wife and how she fooled her husband into thinking that she worked from dawn to dusk.

Before I get attacked by an angry mob of ranch wives, I want to go on record as saying that most of them are as involved in the ranch work as their husbands. Many not only home school their kids and cook huge meals for hungry ranch hands but they perform all night vigils with a foaling mare or help pull a calf at two o’clock in the morning. They drive tractors, fix fence and haul produce to market. After that, they do their housework and cook their family’s meals.