All day I did the little things, 
The little things that do not show; 
I brought the kindling for the fire 
I set the candles in a row, 
I filled a bowl with marigolds, 
The shallow bowl you love the best- 
And made the house a pleasant place 
Where weariness might take its rest 

The hours sped on, my eager feet 
Could not keep pace with my desire. 
So much to do, so little time! 
I could not let my body tire; 
Yet, when the coming of the night 
Blotted the garden from my sight, 
And on the narrow, graveled walks 
Between the guarding flower stalks 
I heard your step: I was not through 
With services I meant for you. 

You came into the quiet room 
That glowed enchanted with the bloom 
Of yellow flame. I saw your face, 
Illumined by the firelit space, 
Slowly grow still and comforted- 
"It's good to be at home!" you said. 
~Blanche Bane Kuder 

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