'Twas Saturday, and the clothes abound,
were cruffled and lay in shabby state,
pants and shirts, to feet were wound,
   or carrumped in arms, a heavy weight.

“Beware the laundry, my dear child,
The smelly socks, the ***** sheets,
Beware the washer, with its center wild,
and shun the powdered soap, its scent deceits!”

She took the pile, and flung from hands,
the soap and smell she still dread,
so fast was she, with soapy brands,
and sprinkled it, through air it fled.

And, as in a relieved thought she stood,
The laundry soaked in waters warm,
in gurbling stream, as water should,
And sunk beneath the bubbly storm.

Swish, swash, swish swash! It clanged and bashed,
the cloth slwooshed back and forth,
the lid meeting its close was mashed,
She frolumped joyfully back in form.

“And have you vanquished the ***** clothes?
Come to my arms, oh clean one!
Wonderous day! No more dismay, bless the smell of rose!
For no longer sat a stinky ton.

'Twas Saturday, and the clothes abound,
were cruffled and lay in shabby state,
pants and shirts, to feet were wound,
   or carrumped in arms, a heavy weight.

It might delight me to have you,
if we weren’t damaged goods,
but I know I haven’t the foggiest
how two broken people are meant
to mend together;
we haven’t the hands to glue.

All our kisses seem so cold
in shadows of past times spent,
even though they were actually
warm and ever present;
It hurts so bad to know I lost
A man I loved that never existed.