WHEN MOTHER COOKED WITH WOOD  

I DO NOT QUARREL WITH THE GAS
OUR MODERN RANGE IS FINE
THE ANCIENT STOVE WAS DOOMED TO PASS
FROM TIME'S GRIM FIRING LINE,
YET NOW & THEN THERE COMES TO ME
THE THOUGHT OF DINNERS GONE
& PIES & CAKES THAT USED TO BE
WHEN MOTHER COOKED WITH WOOD.

THE AXE HAS VANISHED FROM THE YEAR
THE CHOPPING BLOCK HAS GONE,
THERE IS NO PILE OF HARD CORD WOOD
FOR BOYS TO WORK UPON:
THERE IS NO BOX THAT MUST BE FILLED
EACH MORNING TO THE GOOD:
TIME IN ITS RUTHLESSNESS HAS WILLED
THE PASSING OF THE WOOD.

AND YET THOSE FRAGRANT DAYS
AND SPICY DAYS ARE RARE:
THE KITCHEN KNEW A CHEERFUL BLAZE
AND FRIENDLINESS WAS THERE.
FOR BREAKFAST THAT WERE GOOD
WHEN I HAD SCARCELY TURNED THIRTEEN,
AND MOTHER COOKED WITH WOOD.

I USED TO DREAD MY DAILY CHORE,
I USED TO THINK  IT TOUGH
WHEN MOTHER AT THE KITCHEN DOOR
SAID I'D NOT CHOPPED ENOUGH.
AND ON HER BAKING DAYS, I KNOW,
I SHIRKED WHENE'ER I COULD
IN THAT NOW HAPPY LONG AGO
WHEN MOTHER COOKED WITH THE WOOD.

I NEVER THOUGHT I'D WISH TO SEE
THAT PILE OF WOOD AGAIN:
BACK THEN IT ONLY SEEMED TO ME
A SOURCE OF CARE AND PAIN
BUT NOW I'D GLADLY GIVE MY ALL
TO STAND WHERE I ONCE STOOD,
IF THOSE RARE DAYS I COULD RECALL
WHEN MOTHER COOKED WITH WOOD.