Whose clothes are these I think I know.
Her socks are in the hamper though.
She will not see me stooping here
To pick up shirts adorned with bows.
My little girl must think it queer
To complain about a hamper near
With clothes inside that are not hers
The long refrain of every year.
She gives her long blonde hair a shake
And says it was just a mistake.
The only other thing to do
Is clean up the mess her brother makes
Of piles of shirts and jeans of blue.
These kids are lovely, but have no clue,
But I have mountains of laundry to do.
And piles to go before I sleep,
And piles to go before I sleep.
*With apologies to Robert Frost
Thursday, June 4, 2009
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Oh that is too, too clever! What a poet you are :)
And a laundress.
Nice! Glad the never ending laundry duty inspired poetry!
This made me smile. I am quite sure it would have made Mr. Frost smile, too. :)
I tend to think Robert Frost may have been just as clueless about the piles of laundry as the children. My DH and kids think clothes are cleaned, folded & replaced in dresser drawers by magic.
I feel your pain with the never ending laundry
Snicker. I hear you. It is NEVER-ENDING.
Awe, super cute poem! You're such a good writer. :)
Bwa! Good one!
I am one of those weirdos who doesn't mind laundry. But it does overwhelm even me. Often.
I love that you can come up with something nice and poetic about laundry, mine would be full of curse words trying to rhyme but failing miserably, as I do at getting it all put away before the next weeks need to be done.
I'm posting this one on my fridge. Dude.
Piles, isn't that a medical condition?
YOU are brilliant. I may print this up and hang it on my refrigerator.
You are so clever!! Love it! And, laundry...oh, my. Does it ever end???!!!
Very clever, very cool! You really get the "power of small!"
Lisa
Haha! Clever poem. How Frost of you.
hehe you honoured Mr Frost well!
Awesome. One of my favorite poems, made better.
I love this and I feel your pain.
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