Poem on a Dirty House
Stains drip down the oven door.
Bread crumbs scattered on the floor.
Webs of dust, all filled with bugs.
Stains cover living room rugs.
Who can live in filth like this?
With open eyes, cannot miss
Clutter and filth as I roam.
Disgusting, if not my home.
When it’s your own dirt you find
Dirty is a state of mind.
Sure I need pick up a bit,
But since guests aren’t due, I’ll sit.
– – June Nash