A woman's is a sorry lot,
As many a one would say;
We do so many, many things
Invisible each day.
Our hearts grow heavy with the load
Of success that's been ignored.
"Impossible, " you men would cry,
"Why time has not been made
For us to go a-looking
For all the things you say,
For us to find those little things
And praise you to the sky."
But that is not what we would ask
Although it sounds that way:
For if you'd see the good we do
Each time that you are here,
The many things that never show
Won't be so hard to bear.
But if you're always finding fault
And never see the good
We say it isn't worth it
To please him if we could.
And soon we won't admit our faults
For that's already done
By men who've watched and counted
Every little one.

Adeline Foster

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/woman-s-lot/