… to the original author. And anyone who has ever loved any poem, really.
Surveying the House on Thanksgiving Eve
Whose mess this is, I surely know,
My maid is nonexistent though;
So as I slog through hip-deep junk,
I dream of far-off Borneo
With beaches flat and sun so bright …
No way I can afford the flight!
As peels fall from the spuds and fruit,
I know I still must stand and fight.
They’re not polite, the thoughts I think,
As dishes fill the kitchen sink.
Thanksgiving dawns tomorrow yet
The night will pass by in a blink.
Slumber calls me, sweet and deep,
But I have floors that I must sweep,
And pies to bake before I sleep,
And pies to bake before I sleep.
It would be entirely fair to point out that the pies would get baked faster if I wasn’t wasting time making Robert Frost wish he could die all over again. But a girl’s got to have a little fun.