Dishwashing Blues
[Another silly poem, and “first world” problem? Well, we need to laugh sometimes! Life can get a bit heavy. Blessings.]
Oh, I hate to wash dishes
But mama said I must.
But I hate to wash dishes;
I’d rather eat dust.
Oh, the dishwasher’s broken
Oh, what can I do?
There’s a pile a foot high
On the counter; it’s true.
Just put on some music
And sing my way through.
Dance to some verses
And tap to the tune.
Each verse that is sung,
The dishrag is wrung.
The clean pile gets higher
‘Til all of them done!
clarakatalin 