Apologies, Mr. Frost
Stopping By My Living Room on a Regular Evening
Whose shoes these are I do not care
Their stink and steam do fill the air;
They’ve been here for a week or more
Kicked beneath the comfy chair.
There are backpacks thrown behind the door
And cheerios stuck right to the floor.
Is that a banana, for the love of God?
This disarray is the stuff of lore.
My three year old must think it odd
To see me hone my staff and rod
When spying books and dishes--UGH!
And towels and clothing stained with sod.
She gives her blankey a tighter hug
To warn siblings of the coming thug.
She sees the quaking in my gait
And tries to hide beneath the rug.
It’s chaos that I truly hate.
But with children, chaos is my fate.
The laundry's always in a heap.
The order always little and late.
The mess is scary, dark and deep.
But I have a house to clear and keep.
And heads will roll before I sleep
And heads will roll before I sleep.
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