At dawn, before the world awakes,

She rises softly, silence breaks.

A whispered prayer, a steady start,

A housewife’s love, a beating heart.

The kettle sings, the coffee brews,

She greets the day with worn-out shoes.

Through quiet halls, her footsteps glide,

A gentle strength, a source of pride.

She lays the table, neat and bright,

For sleepy heads to share delight.

A morning rush, a warm embrace,

A touch of care in time’s swift race.

The laundry hums, the dishes gleam,

A thousand tasks—an endless stream.

She mends the tear, she sweeps the floor,

A guardian near each open door.

No boss to praise, no wage to earn,

Yet love repays at every turn.

A silent force, a guiding hand,

She builds a home, so strong, so grand.

Through sunny days and storms that loom,

Her laughter fills each empty room.

She tends the plants, she folds the sheets,

Her melodies in chores repeat.

She teaches lessons, wipes the tears,

Her wisdom growing through the years.

A healer, mentor, closest friend,

Her love’s a thread that won’t unbend.

And when the evening paints the sky,

She hums a tune, a lullaby.

She tucks the world in soft embrace,

With tender hands and boundless grace.

Her dreams may rest in quiet deep,

But in her heart, they never sleep.

She’s more than roles the world may weave—

A soul who gives, yet still believes.

For though her work stays unconfessed,

She knows her love is life’s true quest.

A housewife’s life, a song unsung,

Yet in her hands, the world is spun.