Thursday, August 18, 2016

To my new washer - a Shakespearean sonnet

The laundry's piled and piled upon the floor
And dread o'er takes me when it comes to mind.
The loath machine, I kick and kick some more
For cleanness means I cannot e'er be kind.
A call, one truck, two men, the vile thing goes
Instead, a large, so large, machine that sings.
Without a kick, it washes soil-ed clothes
My soul, as viewing daff'dils, now has wings.
For two loads are as one and wash as quick
My days are spent in leisure and in bliss.
An empty basement floor my eyes do not me trick
One load, three hours of labor, I won't miss.
There is one thing that clouds my joyful thought
'Tis that my dryer won't work as it ought.

1 comment:

Carla said...

This makes me laugh!

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