Classic Poem

So many days, so much to do,
It is her happy point of view
To find the many days too few.

She calls on people where they are,
She reckons not of near or far,
But walks and never takes the car.

For her too oft the sunrise brings
A dozen “dates” for sundry things
That cause her many wanderings.

Now if her doings will not brook
The confines of my little book,
For this my ENVOI may she look!

Ah, gentler, Mother, be thy pace!
Be easier on time and place;
And, for your dear enjoyment, grace
Your days with sight of leisure's face.