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Slide 1

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The song of the old mother
· I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
· Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
· And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
· Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
· And the young lie long and dream in their bed…read more

Slide 2

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Of the matching of ribbons for blossom and
head,
· And their day goes over in idleness,
· And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress:…read more

Slide 3

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While I must work because I am old,
· And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.
· William Butler Yeats. 1899…read more

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