I see that cottage clearly;
with bubbling brook and pine trees nearly
embracing all who dwell there.
And the girl there, she bakes
churning out her cookies, breads and cakes
for the little men who love her.
Bring her diamonds, pluck her lilies,
and here you though the 50's,
silly.
Well, I certainly never did.
I say burn your bras and protest then.
Let them know (if it matters)
that you're no less than men.
But leave me out
of it.
You work, you strive, you fight
to thrive
And I will watch through cottage curtains,
happy,
and wait for the doughs to rise.
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