Committed to not be committed; I turn myself inside out.
Decreasing all my creasings; so there’s no dirty laundry to doubt.
In mustering all of my mustard; for clearing I’m clearly keen.
I’m the only maid for the mess I’ve made…all the carnage I’ve seen.
I work while I wait for a decrease in weight, slow & steady now.
Shocks of pain whilst cleaning a pane, to be outside my mess I vow.
Pelted by rain & under false reign; I clear a path thru the waste.
Now, this orphaned son can soak in the sun; no more sorrow encased.
Headed for the gate with the jauntiest gait, freedom earned tastes best.
Being great will undoubtedly grate; but I’m here…so, where’s the rest?
L.B.Stowe 