The last few days I've given new thought to that idea
I had, that I liked children. The longer I stay here,
The more their shrieks and moans, the banging of drums,
The whining--there's a lot more of that than laughter,
It would seem. It's a miracle my sister doesn't lose
Her mind. It goes on and on, sunrise to sundown,
And that's before you tally in how she has to order
The servants and watch out for the captain's temper.
Anne always said the lack of children would be a great
Sadness, but now I wonder. I can't imagine she would
Get much reading done if we had a pair of little Annes
Running around, and boys would be even worse.
And yes, she is occasionally pushy or patronizing,
But she is also a rock to lean against, with an even
Temper--she says the journal helps there--rarely
Displaying anger. And I know now it was righteous
The two times she did, when I reacted harshly
Because of Mr. Ainsworth and Miss Parkhill.
She is nothing like the captain. He is vain, stern,
Sulky and self-serving, always putting Elizabeth
In a hard place, criticizing and threatening.
I am going back to my early thoughts of marriage
To a man as being repugnant. I draw Anne here
So I can tell her likeness how my ideas change.