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A Mason's Wife
Many years have hurried past since he first joined the Craft
I used to help him with stiff front shirts and know that I was daft
To crawl about on hands and knees to find the stud he'd lost
He could have bought some extra ones for very little cost.
I liked to lay out all his clothes and little black bow ties
The dinner suit was hand me down and not quite right for size
We realized that frequently he had just one black sock
This, of all my shortcomings, would make him do his block
The time involved in putting on the full Masonic dress
Was fraught with great frustration and with constant mounting stress
For also with the dressing was a frantic final look
At certain of the pages in the secret ritual book
Then came the day when tails were bought to mark promotion's climb
I warmed with pride as off he went-that special man of mine
Next came a spate of going out to one Lodge or another
He hardly spent a night at home, my worshipful, the brother.
I watched a special talent grow, a new commanding air
Of dignity and confidence, as master in the chair
My memory of that time is tingled with one distinctive sight
The rear end view of flapping tails-my penguin in full flight
I am proud to be a Mason's wife, I'm proud to be a mother
And later, once our son has joined, he'll be my husband's brother
And then I hope they'll both go off in fellowship fraternal
To moralize and square their lives on God's own word eternal.
Remember, if you don't see the Ashlar "A", it's not authentic.
By Brothers, For Brothers & always For the good of the craft...
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