My clothes heap keeps rising
My mind is still on writing
My writers curse is now rising
Preventing me from doing my ironing.
It grows each day
To my immense dismay
Its not laziness
At least I don't think
I lay myself to bed
Forty winks I said
Before I attempt to iron
and I need a wine Uruguayan.
The heap keeps rising
My mind is still on writing
My writers curse is rising
Preventing me from doing my ironing.
An iron burn does lay
Down upon my carpet
I panicked one day
when my sister came to stay.
Now I only iron
Past 7' o clock
So I do not panic
and have another glass.
I now just sit and write
and forget to do the ironing
another day does pass
as another wash load arises.
I tell myself each day
That today will be the day
I stop my writing.
And start the bloody ironing
To keep my wine a-flowing,
My arm slowing and slowing
Until I am pressed
and ever so neatly dressed
My clothes heap keeps rising
My mind is still on writing
My writers curse is now rising
Preventing me from doing my ironing.
Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,
A medley of extemporanea,
And love is a thing that can never go wrong,
And I am Marie of Roumania.
---------------------------------
By the time you swear you're his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying,
Lady, make a note of this —
One of you is lying.
Well, trust and honesty, being able to talk to each other about anything and being genuinely interested in what the other half does. Happily married 25 years this year