A PERFECT DAY

Grandmother on a winter day,

Milked the cows and fed them hay,
Slopped the hogs, saddled the mule,

And got the children off to school,

Did a washing, mopped the floors,
Washed the windows and did some chores,
Cooked a dish of home-made fruit,
Pressed her husband’s Sunday suit.

Swept the parlour, made the bed,

Baked a dozen loaves of bread,

Split some firewood and lugged it in
Enough to fill the kitchen bin.

Cleaned the lamps and put in oil,

Stewed some apples she thought would spoil.
Churned the butter, baked a cake,

Then exclaimed — “For Heaven’s sake —
The cows are out of the pen!”

Went out and chased them in again,
Gathered the eggs and locked the stable,
Back to the house and set the table.
Cooked a supper that was delicious

And afterward washed up all the dishes.
Fed the cat and sprinkled the clothes,
Mended a basketful of hose.

Then opened the organ and began to play —

When You Come to the End Of A Perfect Day.

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