Frozen earth and faint white sun the day make,
Hanging chilies a raindrop curtain formed,
'Tis only for my sorrowed husband's sake,
That I sit here weeping, by village scorned.
With distended belly, my frame adorned,
I dig deep within to find mind's fair ease,
Do not tell him, the overseer warned,
I do with what's mine whatever I please.
Yet in cities, girls live not on their knees,
Toiling on iced mountains for toil alone,
Ringed fingers, heeled soles, they never do freeze,
Pure empty vessels from birth until bone.
Ten miles to market, his chilies I vend,
Ten miles home, and a baby to tend.

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