I'd rather be a mother,
Than abort one,
Bringing up a child or two,
Of unpretentious birth,
I'd rather nurse a rose babe
With warm lips against my skin,
Than wear a queen's medallion
Above a heart less blest;
I'd rather tuck a little child
All safe and sound in bed,
Than twine a chain of diamonds
About my foolish head
I'd rather wash a smudgy face
With round, bright baby eyes
Than paint the pageantry of fame,
Or walk among the wise.

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