Working

The soap bubbles are enchanting Swirling, spinning, little glimpses of rainbows The waters hot, But not hot enough.

The floors, The stairs, The windows, The cupboards, All have to be cleaned.

But eventually the work is done. There is nothing left to clean. And the demons soon arise. Sadness engulfs you. Loneliness in all it's pride and glory, Squeezes you until you wish to die.

The garden! Its unruly and unkept. Another reason to leave, And start working again.