This Season Called Spring
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Poets call this season Spring,
But Mothers call it Laundering.
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Farmers watch the news for rain,
Mothers think of green grass stains.
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Piolts watch for turbulence
Mothers scrub, then wash and rinse.
(Help me add some more verses. I need a verse about Tide! Write your verse in the comments section, and I will add it to this poem.)
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Mothers buy more Oxy-Clean,
But Poets call this season Spring.
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Ted MacLennan likes this.
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Bel McCoyTides in, tides out, tide gets clothes cleaner than any soap…. getMay 15 at 6:03pm ·LikeUnlike -
Bel McCoyT.I.D.E. tide!! hahaha this is an oldie!!! not a poem.May 15 at 6:04pm ·LikeUnlike
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Ted MacLennanI don’t entirely believe that spring exists in WA this year.May 15 at 7:50pm ·LikeUnlike -
John Whitaker The kids go out, then they come in
Mud between their toes, dirt on their chin
Running to catch the phone before the last ring
Muddy footprints on the floor, I’m growing weary of spring.May 15 at 8:50pm ·UnlikeLike · 2 peopleLoading… -
Joanne Rayl Out west, the farmers look for sun,
but alas they have found none.
They envy farmers not from the left,
and feel themselves of sun bereft.
The rain it pours, the mold it grows,
but TIDE cleans it all from our clothes!May 16 at 2:44am ·UnlikeLike · 1 personLoading…
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