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The Washing
It's Friday morn in May
The weather set for fine
A perfect day for hanging
My washing on the line
Out at seven on the dot
A gleaming row of white.
A clear blue sky above
Not a cloud in sight.
But then 'Oh No!' disaster struck
As I reached the kitchen door
I heard a noise behind me
My washing on the floor.
But rescue came from close at hand
My husband made things fine
By lifting all the clothes
Re-tied the broken line.
No damage done, the clothes still white
Gently blowing in the breeze
Early sun a rising
Through the garden trees.
But now it's lunch, the weather's broke
From skywards falling rain
I picture soggy washing
Damn! I will have to start again.
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