Washing Line.

The wind through the copse is now growing

And the line full of washing begins blowing.

Pegged out on the line, in sunshine at nine.

The weather looked set for the day.


The 'undies' by the house, were discreet

Next to the socks pegged in pairs at the feet.

Further along where the lavender grows

The shirts and the dresses hung neat in their rows.


But nothing now hangs either neat or discreet,

And I don't like the way this is going.

The wind that was blowing, has now upped it's game-

And I'm sure I can feel the first splashes of rain. 


I fight for control of the now thrashing line,

And get hit in the face by a sheet.

The socks are all tangled the 'undies' are too.

And the shirts and the dresses all hug when they meet.


The line is now empty, the washing is in.

And I'm drenched from my feet to my head.

I re-wash the clothes and look at the line

As the sun has returned with it's shine.

I pick up an armful of freshly washed shirts

And reach for the dryer instead!

Author's Notes/Comments: 

This was inspired by seeing a sheet blowing on my line and the trees waving beyond. But it didn't rain!

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Wordman's picture

I love the humorous reach in

I love the humorous reach in your poem. It brought a smile and relief to a tedious day, Thanks for posting.

sweetwater's picture

Haha thank you, glad it

Thank you, glad it helped :-)