Sisters can be difficult creatures, The towels left transforms me into a preacher. They combine and plead that it wasn't either- of them, Defending that they are benign and not leavers. But I do not accept their lines, I rebut them and decline What they are feeding me and a desire to confine them- overwhelms. But instead of convulsing into a seizure or giving in to something malign and of a devious nature, My words become fiercer as I deliver my "bottom-line" To those rascally creatures that I wish to refine. Yet I can hear features of mine, in their voices, before I was their keeper and only nine, And it made me realize that I, too, once was a creature and not fully defined. Calming down I enshrine myself and become a wistful dreamer. To have things I've made stay made would be sublime, and so much cleaner. And so- in my confines dreaming of refined sisterly creatures, I recline. Alas, being a teacher makes me want to lie supine.
Silly-ness brought on by small siblings. Oh how easily they can destroy what you have just done =P.