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Saturday, 31 January 2015

Dirty Washing Poem

Dirty washing is a chore.
All that washing on the floor.
Skid marked pants and blackened socks.
Shall I chance the weathered crocs?

Pop it in the tub with nuts.
No, I don't want any buts.
Watch it dance, watch it swirl.
Then it does its final whirl.

Hang it on the line and sniff.
Nope, not a single, smelly whiff.
Lavender, and scents galore,
the warming sun.
Ah, back for more!!

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