Lunchboxes

Lunchboxes must be filled ....

In golden-shaded afternoons in Spring, when children laugh and play across the square, the mothers are at home, and with a skill that comes from years of patient toil and care, they quickly make up lunches for their men.

Nearing midnight, with half the world asleep, when strange night noises pass along the narrow street; before the whistle blows, to break the quiet with voice blatant and strong, tired women give to this small task their best.

At early dawn before the sky is settled and soft new eager morning sounds are heard; the clop-clop of the milkman's ancient horse, the gentle flutelike notes of some small bird, the women of the house are busy then. Lunchboxes must be filled.

And deep down in the mine, or by the light of molten slag, men eat and are content.