What the Maid is Thinking

My mistress has grown petulant. Her coffee's
Cold. The paper's wet. Her precious little doggie
Has thrown up on her new Persian rug. The flower
Boxes on her window sills are filling up with rain,
And no one comes to visit her, except for me,
And she's aware that she must pay me. Otherwise,
I'd also stay away.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 27 times
Written on 2020-05-13 at 15:08

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