Visiting with The Milkman and The Maid Years Later

6/23/25

A couple of weeks ago, while moseying through my favorite local park I found a book of poetry by George Rapanos titled, “Pearls of Great Worth” in the mini ‘free library’. Of course I had to claim it, and so glad I did, thank you to who left it! It’s been years since I’ve read any poetry outside of what I’ve written and psalms; it’s been fun becoming reacquainted with it. The book even has a prose fairy tale story at the end that has a positive message. I love it!

It brought to mind some of the less intense poetry I wrote years ago. “The Milkman and The Maid”  is not the poem referred to in the last post; it’s kind of a fun romantic story inspired by a painting by Charles Wysocki titled “My Milkman, My Confidant, My Lover . . . My Husband” that was at a furniture store I worked at years ago. (Pictured above.)

Have been realizing lately how much I’ve missed writing children’s stories and other creative endeavors so decided to tweak the poem and added a one stanza ‘update’ on our couple.  Lets see how they’ve fared after all these years . . . 🙂

The Milkman and The Maid

Rise at the break of day,
tiptoe passed the master’s way;
find my way down darkened walls, 
to the kitchen, my own four walls.

Brew the coffee, toast the bread,
sizzle the bacon, break those eggs.
Quietly though, so not to wake,
the master upstairs for both our sakes.

Open the window so I can hear
the wagon as it’s drawing near.
My palms are wet, my heart starts pounding;
face is flushed, my temperature’s bounding!

Quietly, I open up the door -
walk outside and reach for more.
With light escaping from the sun’s rise
I see his heart dancing in his eyes.

Taking me into his arms he proclaims -
to love me ’til the end of our days
and when our days are all used up, 
we’ll die together, cuddled up.

At the end of our stolen bliss,
just one last passionate kiss,
and then he’ll be on his way -
now a memory for today.

I forget the milk as I straighten
my cap and the rumpled apron.
Walk back through the kitchen door
and go on cooking as before.

I wonder if anyone notices why
my eyes are bright, my smile’s so wide.
(Except for the child with curious eyes -
it’s nothing that some cake can’t bribe.)  

Years later . . . 

Our love and faith has deepened, mellowed
As we learn to turn our fears and hurts
into growth; healed, lasting seasons.
We love in joy, instead of reasons. 

c. Pearl