The broom sweeps left,
The broom sweeps right.
But before we sweep,
We must dust the corners tonight.
Dust away the dirt defining your hurt.
Yes, you can reach them, with your height.
Let's take the mop now,
Soak up the floors.
They become water-damaged
With those muffled tears of yours.
And mine.
This old house is ours.
We must keep it tidy.
We waste away the hours
Tearing it apart.
I'll replace the old rags;
They pointlessly push the mess about.
Stains and rings of previous mistakes--
I scrub, but they never seem to come out.
The tape holds them together,
These furniture breaks,
But still they seem to cause
This rotted wood to ache.
We're almost done for the evening.
Follow my lead, love.
Tie up those rags in the bags of
What we needn't worry about for now.
Place away the supplies
In the closet next to the light
So we can rest our eyes
And attempt to sleep tight.
This old house is ours.
So we must keep it tidy.
We waste away the hours
Tearing it apart,
But a clutter is much more workable
When two will take part.
Handling a mess feels much better when someone can hold the dustpan while you sweep.
