A poem for those who suffer from endless laundry woes:

Laundry do you ever cease?

Gathering, sorting, washing, drying, and folding

Living in the baskets to crease.

Forgotten washed clothes molding,

Restart the dryer for the tenth time.

A mountain range of folding high enough to climb,

Will I catch up today?

Not unless I find someone to pay.

I am not a poet at all! I do feel like I do some aspect of laundry everyday. And I hate laundry. I cannot be the only person with these sentiments. I might need to write a poem regarding dishes too. That doesn’t end either.




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