I often wonder how br Life clicks because br They don't make women now br Like Mammy was. br When broods of two or three br Content most men, br How wonderful was she br With children ten! br br Though sixty years have gone, br As I look back, br I see her rise at dawn, br Our boots to black; br Pull us from drowsy bed, br Wet sponge to pass, br And speed us porridge fed br To morning class. br br Our duds to make and mend, br Far into night, br O'er needle she would spend br By bleary light. br Yet as her head drooped low, br With withered hair, br It seemed the candle glow br Made halo there. br br And so with silvered pow br I sigh because br They don't make women now br Like Mammy was.