Poem on a Dirty House

Filthy House


Stains drip down the oven door.

Bread crumbs scattered on the floor.

Webs of dust, all filled with bugs.

Stains cover living room rugs.

Who can live in filth like this?

With open eyes, cannot miss

Clutter and filth as I roam.

Disgusting, if not my home.


When it’s your own dirt you find

Dirty is a state of mind.

Sure I need pick up a bit,

But since guests aren’t due, I’ll sit.

–                   – June Nash

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