Their Separate Ways
By Berta Huish Christensen
There are two selves in me who sometimes meet,
And smiling pass, then go their separate ways.
One is a thrifty maid and all her days
Are duty measured, scheduled, and discreet.
She pins her thoughts to charts and daily needs,
To ruffled curtains, clean and neatly tied.
She counts her rows of bottled fruit with pride
And labels every can of flower seeds.
With oven hot and biscuits feather-light,
What can she care if poets never write!
The other, envious of hours that grow
In duty’s patterned groove, would mark the ebb
And flow of seasons by the jeweled web
Of spider lace in gardens and by snow.
She scents the first spring blossom in the air
And fills a wintered heart with early roses;
She knows the hour when the moon-flower closes
And knits a scarf of dawn-mist for her hair.
how can she care – who lives in each return
Of blade and bloom – if sometimes carrots burn!