What work is...?

Somehow that poem reminded me how my mother told me about work..
My mother didn't work after she got married, she stay home and raised us till we came to the United States. That's when she went to work. The work itself wasn't hard for her, she said, it was the language that she needed to learn. Every night after work, she would grab the book to memorise few words that she needed to know. But every times she tries to use them, she would forget everything.
She never told us how hard it was for her to learn a new language and work six days a week at same time. Just once she had told me, that there were days that she wanted to quit. At the end of her day at work, she would pack her belonging from the desk and thought that she will not go back. But when she came home and saw us, she knew that she needed that job.
I can only imagine how she felt through those days.
From her, I have learned to be responsible and to respect other people's work.