song for a fifth child

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

~Ruth Hulburt Hamilton, 1958

i'd heard the end of this poem before, but i have just fallen in love with the whole poem. i feel like i'm living in that house right now, and i just need to remember that babies do not keep. they become two. and two year olds do not keep. they become three. and three year olds do not keep, either. and well, that's as far as i've gotten so far. but i'm pretty sure he's not gonna stay three for very much longer. so i think i'm gonna find a print of this poem and hang it in my kitchen. you know, the one with the clean floor!?