Issue 5, October 1977
Once I was young; the children small
There was not time to finish all
The tasks, it seemed.
These things I dreamed:
A clean, still house, no urgent need,
A little time to rest and read.
Now I am older; day by day
I read the lonely hours away
The still house gleams.
These are my dreams
A piping voice to call its need,
A hungry little mouth to feed
A terar to wipe, a hole to mend, A boundless energy to lend.
Vain, idle dreams!
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