In apron gown and hands so raw
She scrubbed and scrubbed the scullery floor,
Beneath the cook’s uncaring gaze
She spent her unrewarding days,
She cleaned and chopped and scraped the peel
Of fruit and veg for every meal,
She plucked the fowl and scaled the fish
To help prepare the master’s dish.
She lit the stove and stoked the fire
Until the lowly flames grew higher,
She scoured the pots each pan and plate
Resigned was she unto her fate,
Her burns and scars each ach and pain
Reminders of her years of strain,
And yet she took each mortal blow
And never once her tears did flow.
In apron gown and hands so raw
She scrubbed and scrubbed the scullery floor,
A bed of stone that gave no rest
Upon her knees she tried her best,
She worked the hours that God did send
Until her life came to an end,
And every night she’d prayed and prayed
Her daughter more than scullery maid
