The Poet, On Seeing A Mess, Groans:

Ach! What has happened here?
Who left these towels on the floor?
And all these clothes, so that I
Cannot even shut the door?
Who dropped a banana peel
And did not pick it up?
Whose socks are these?
Who’s sticky, dusty cup?
Who would leave a pickle jar
On the desk – without a lid?
What? It’s MY room? Ah, so it is.
Who made this mess? Well, I suppose I did.
I think I’ll just sneak away
Perhaps no one will see.
I’ll just hide in some closet
And write more poetry.

by Sophia White

Comments (0)

There is no comment submitted by members.