O laundry you pile up before my eyes.
i blink and your baskets overflow.
i put you away clean and folded and you reappear
crumpled and worn.
O laundry you call my name.
you use the voices of others:
"i have no socks"
"where are my pants?"
"are you done the washing yet?"
O laundry you mark the time.
once you were tiny sleepers and onesies,
now you are are hoodies and t-shirts
and skinny jeans.
O laundry you are my weekly reminder
that times does indeed fly...
(oh, there it goes just now!)
and that we have much to be thankful for...
(another pair of his favourite jeans)
and that it's efficient machines i use
not rocks and a river.
How could I call you a blessing?
But you are.
Laundry, you are.