Contrast

Contrast

'Tis queer to think of our Grandmas,
That once they were but little girls,
And wore their hair in long pigtails,
Or else in funny, bobbing curls.

'Tis queer to think they ran and played,
And laughed and romped in childish glee.
I wonder if they ever tired,
And rested on their Mother's knee.

But sad to think they had to work,
And learn to sweep, and bake, and mend.
'Tis painful how they had to sit
And stitch those long seams without end.

There's much to envy 'bout those days,
And much looks most unpleasant, too.
I think I'd rather live to-day,
Because there is much less to do!