They sit and soak
All day and night
Hoping for somebody
To come and wash the dried on ruins
Of super that's gone by
Beside them lie
The silver tools
That aided in the doing
No more in glory and in shine
But with a lot of stuck on grime
The pots and bowls are not much cleaner
They wait their turn to come as well
And in the distance they lie thinking
That it is just about time
To go to bed
Leave till tomorrow
The toil and the dryness
Of hands that have to scrub and rinse
These dishes of mine
