Sonnet #97

Measure a life, and count up the cleaning

How many days do we spend at the scrub?
The wealthy may pay for another for preening
the rest of us wash our own toilets and tubs
Obituaries rarely capture the days
They describe the moments of highest glory
The peaks achieved, the children who pray
We only measure successes, that’s our story
Quotidian things, the dishes, the mop
Mowing the grass, and wiping the table
We measure the garden by flowers and crops
But there is the slow growth towards being able
Measure one perfect forgettable day, uninspired
We worked, there was music, then we were tired.

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