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My Kitchen Sink.
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Poetry by Bern.
My Kitchen Sink.
Piles of washing up in my kitchen sink,
Left over from Breakfast, Dinner and tea.
Piles of used dishes it makes me think,
Were they all left for poor little me?
Cups and Saucers are all complaining out loud,
Wash us up now we are not used to being in this crowd.
The Knives and Forks were all on my side,
My just being in the kitchen filled them with pride.
Plates covered in jam were willing to fight,
Poor old man he is in a terrible plight.
To wash all of those dirty dishes in soapy water,
He will take it like a man he will not falter.
Now the dirty dishes are washed and all put away,
I myself will go out with the other old men to play.
Tomorrow I will not eat in this kitchen of mine,
No dirty dishes to wash will suit me just fine.
Bern aka Bernard Shaw.
