Humor | Poetry
Ode To My Daughter Dearest
Clean thy room!
Oh, clean thy room, I beg of thee,
It doth appear disgustingly.
Thine clothing strewn upon thy bed
To look at, pains me in my head.
And on thy floor, uncaring, scattered,
Lie thine socks, and sneakers — battered.
Trashcan full and bed awry –
Remindeth me of ye olde pig-stye.
Oh, clean thy room, thou hast the time
To make it neat, to make it shine.
Now that thine tests be mostly done,
Thy poor excuses are all gone.
Yet maxi-pads and Lady Schick
Greet all guests and make them sick.
And scraps of lint like fallen snow
Bedeck the carpeting below.
Oh, clean thy room, and clean it well,
I troth it be not hard as hell
To straighten up and put away
The books and notes of yesterday.
To vacuum clean, perchance to dust,
Civilization says thou must.
And thou, mayhaps, might chance to spread
The charming quilt upon thy bed.
And should you, child, thy room make neat,
A heavenly choir would laud thy feat.
A chorus of angels would sing on high
As thine dad would gaze at thy room and sigh,
With pleasure. And thou wouldst gain much pride
From a bedroom thy parents no longer need hide.
And mighty rewards before thee would loom —
If thou, dearest child, would just clean up thy room!
