The Maid Mar!

The Maid Mar!
by Ber Horovitz

To her, the maid, no lady can compare
few hearts like hers, so rich so rare

And no matter how lowly the work may be
her bare hands bestow it with delicacy

She comes with soft footsteps, knocks on
the door
Every move of hers has rhythm of song and
folklore.

How lovely her hands hold the tray
as she sets golden tea at each person’s place

We ask her questions to hear her soft voice

Oh, how are you Miss Mar? is the question
of choice.

She smiles – thank you doctor, very well –
her friendliness endears

You’d think that world peace is waiting right
here.

As if under her forty year old braided hair
there never was an ache or pain

As if in her life she never felt bad
and the hopes of this Czech Village beauty
were never dashed or shamed

And today she left with a charming good bye–
to visit her dying mother…

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