Perhaps she came from Bohemia or was it Slovakia?
And settled in America somewhere in the West.
Alone in the sunburnt prairie with only her man
She worked with gritted teeth under those Western skies.
A hut was her home and work her diversion —
And God her support.
She transformed that Western prairie into a wavy sea of wheat or rye,
Because it bore the magic touch of her tears and self sacrifice.
She was everything—a laborer, housewife,
Farmer, milk maid, wife and mother.
Yes, she loved her children
with a healthy, wholesome love —
And she toiled on with a new incentive.
True, she was not beautiful as you remember her;
Toil and sorrow furrowed her once comely face.
Her hair was dishevelled,
Her hands calloused, her dress patched.
But her soul mirrored in those keen eyes .mw-parser-output .nowrap,.mw-parser-output .nowrap a:before,.mw-parser-output .nowrap .selflink:before{white-space:nowrap}— —
How charming, beautiful, determined,
And somehow you cannot forget her,
Because she worked for you
Or it was for me?
And somehow she’s still within us all — — —
That sturdy, dauntless mother — —
Our Mother..mw-parser-output .wst-floatright{float:right;text-indent:0}F. H.