i want a man to come courting
with a fistful of daisies and ditch lilies.
and an axe and a maul
all his own.
his shoulders should be broad,
for bustin’ firewood.
he ought to be eager to sweat for me,
ready to warm me right up
with hard work.
’cause winter comes on quick,

even with sunshine in full swing.
if a man comes sauntering

down my gravel road
it’d be best to bring a jar of honey
and sweeten me up. 
i always wanted an apiarist.
a tall one.
’cause no matter how hard i stretch
i can’t get the clothesline high enough
to keep the quilts up off the ground.