These days, with duty, sure are rife,
It goes along with living life.
The chores that make our happy home
A somewhat clean and safe biome,
Now, mostly, they don’t bother me.
They satisfy my need, you see,
To have things neat and organized,
And make the house feel harmonized!
But though my house is ‘mostly’ clean,
Before I (in your praises), preen,
I have one chore that I admit,
Perturbs me just a little bit.
And this is it, I will confess:
I clean the floors under duress,
It’s true, you heard it here, from me,
My floors aren’t what they’re s’posed to be,
Okay, they’re ‘clean’, I would suppose,
No clutter, trash, no dirty clothes,
But cleaning as I did in youth?
It’s really hard, and that’s the truth!
Please understand my sad dismay,
I guess it’s not the ‘chore’ each day,
That fills me with so much concern,
And makes me for my freedom yearn . . .
Each day to get to bended knee,
The further the floors are from me.
Cause Mondays do get knocked a lot,
