"The Joy of Doing"
I'm sorry for you, I confess,
who never made a lovely dress.
Who never had the chance to spread,
your table with your own fresh bread.
Who never saw your kitchen shine,
nor pinned white clothes upon the line;
Who never made dishes gleam
Nor froze a batch of rich ice-cream.
How dull to have another do
Every single task for you.
To only get to eat the cake
Another had the joy to make.
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