All day she hurried to get through, The same as lots of wimmin do;
Sometimes at night her husban' said, "Ma, ain't you goin' to come to
bed?" And then she'd kinder give a hitch, And pause half way between a
stitch, And sorter sigh, and say that she Was ready as she'd ever be,
She reckoned.
And so the years went one by one, An' somehow she was never done; An'
when the angel said, as how "Miss Smith, it's time you rested now,"
She sorter raised her eyes to look A second, as a stitch she took;
"All right, I'm comin' now," says she, "I'm ready as I'll ever be, I
reckon."
Albert Bigelow Paine.