Dairymaid In The Old Days Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

Sun climbs slow, a rosy peek,
Before the birds begin to speak.
She wakes before the morning light,
To milk the cows, both day and night.

The goats, they bleat, a gentle sound,
Her hands so quick, on dewy ground.
Then churn and press, with patient might,
To make the butter, creamy white.

Brown cheese and white, a skillful art,
From morning's milk, a brand new start.
So clean and neat, her every touch,
To guard the food, she cared so much.

She guides the herd to grassy slopes,
Where wildflowers bloom, and hope elopes.
With watchful eye, she roams so free,
Protecting them, for all to see.

As shadows stretch and day grows old,
Back to the barn, a story told
In weary steps, yet work still waits,
The evening milk, before the gates.

The mountainside, a quiet place,
A lonely smile upon her face.
But here she's queen, with air so clean,
A freedom found, though seldom seen.

With strength of arm and knowing heart,
She plays her wild and vital part.
In simple ways, she thrives alone,
A dairymaid, on Norway's stone.