Thursday, March 22, 2012

Rhyme from an old Diary

Mrs.  X  runs a heavenly home;
So  neat , so nice, such a nest.
The curtains are crisp,
The taps don’t drip --
 The house passes every blessed test.

Well almost every test;
For while I do swear
That  cockroaches don’t dare
To prance on her tables—
She’s just too  perfect, too  able.

The morning newspaper
Is in it’s place,
Yesterday’s is inside a shelf;
I can’t find a quick-stray  pin or a pen –
They’re all in their appointed stables.

There’s nothing unexpected,  no  sudden joy;
No  ad leaflets to laugh at.
The useless is thrown off,
The  latest displayed so –
To be used and promptly disposed off.

There's no shoebox old,
Brimming with tales,
Of a naughty birthday greeting,
Or a bauble that sparkles
With mischiveous memories
Of  a riotous party.

And  so  the  X   nest ,
So  squeaky-clean , so neat;
Still fails one final test—
To  my  seeking  mind
Too  predictable,