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,


Murali said...

Haha I love this poem!! And I know who you wrote it about! :D

lalsub said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Melanie said...

Great poem, Lalli. Good to see you back in action. Why did you remove your own post?

Good luck with your writing. I am so glad that I had stuff strewn around when you came visiting or else I would have thought that you were writing about me (:-).