Taken on April 7, 2012
It’s fun to clean house.
The food isn’t much,
And paint’s all about
That we mustn’t touch;
But strange stored-away things,
Not like everyday things,
Make marvelous playthings
From attics and such.
The boxes come out
From closets and chests,
With odd sorts of clothes
Like old hats and vests,
And photographed faces,
And ribbons and laces,
And postcards of places,
And cards left by guests.
Then Mother says, “Throw
The whole lot away!”
And Father says, “Wait —
I’ll need this someday.”
But either way’s meaning
A chance to go gleaning
Among the housecleaning
For new things to play.
—Dorothy Brown Thompson
Favorite Poems Old and New
04.07.2024: She doesn’t like housecleaning anymore.