As we celebrate Labor Day with picnics, festivals, and feasts, I can’t help thinking of the millions of people in world for whom this day is simply another round of exhaustingly repetitive, strenuous work—work from which there is never a real holiday. Many of these folks are women who face unending tasks both inside and outside the home. But there are men who know the drudgery Angelou is referring to in her poem as well. So do all too many children. Let us honor them all today as we celebrate, and hope that they’ll know the sort of grace Angelou finds in the warmth of the sunshine, the cool of the dew, and the comforting glow of the moon.

Woman Work

by Maya Angelou

I've got the children to tend
The clothes to mend
The floor to mop
The food to shop
Then the chicken to fry
The baby to dry
I got company to feed
The garden to weed
I've got shirts to press
The tots to dress
The cane to be cut
I gotta clean up this hut
Then see about the sick
And the cotton to pick.

Shine on me, sunshine
Rain on me, rain
Fall softly, dewdrops
And cool my brow again.
Storm, blow me from here
With your fiercest wind
Let me float across the sky
'Til I can rest again.

Fall gently, snowflakes
Cover me with white
Cold icy kisses and
Let me rest tonight.
Sun, rain, curving sky
Mountain, oceans, leaf and stone
Star shine, moon glow
You're all that I can call my own.