Washing dishes at the sink <br />is a gentle, quiet chore; <br />Gives me a chance to softly think, <br />and talk to Russell Crow. <br /> <br />He caws incessantly to me, <br />I shoo him with a sprinkle; <br />He scolds indignant as can be, <br />his glinting eyes a-twinkle. <br /> <br />Here is my sonshine's baby plate, <br />Still shining new and bright; <br />For feasts of fudge and chocolate, <br />at quarter past midnight! <br /> <br />Here are ancient porclaine dishes, <br />from Grandma's wedding set; <br />Constant reminders of her wishes, <br />that I would never once forget... <br /> <br />And here's the husband's coffee mug, <br />a long lost gift from me; <br />It came with a gentle holding hug, <br />the way we're meant to be. <br /> <br />Soaking plates, I hum a tune, <br />from days long gone since; <br />I scrub a pretty silver spoon, <br />and slowly start to rinse.<br /><br />Roann Mendriq<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/washing-dishes-2/
