Laundry, Laundry doest thou not have an end?
I toil and labor daily though I cannot comprehend
Why the mountains of laundry continue to swell and burst?
I feel as though my hamper must ever be so cursed.
Laundry, Laundry can I call you sweet friend?
If so, please leave my troubles and to me do send
More days in my week or slightly longer hours
I welcome relief or better yet a willing, helping husband.
the end.
2 comments:
great poem!
Thanks, I worked really hard on it:) instead of folding the mountain of clothes. By the way, I'm still doing laundry
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