I’m zealously cleaning, It’s out of control, The kids started camp And now I’m on a roll. In the younger one’s room, The closet came first, Five bags for donation All ready to burst. I’m purging, spelunking, and filling a basket, So much to throw out that I’m blowing a gasket. Train parts, and car wheels, there’s blink toys and bits, Stuffed in a drawer and none of it fits. Yo-yos, kazoos and buttons look rusty, Webkinz, stuffed doggies and pillow pets are dusty. I’m sneezing and coughing, my eyes are all red, And that’s just the closet, not under the bed. When I check under there, I find stray toys and notes; Pencils, pajamas, a doo dad that floats. A dirty old sock, a card game of sorts, A piece to a puzzle, a red pair of shorts. I know that his bedroom Looks that of a hoarder, It’s nothing compared to the room of my daughter! Sometimes I’ll sigh, or just shoot her a glare, Won’t tell her to clean it, no, that I don’t dare, ‘Cause, nagging and begging just isn’t the answer And some...
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