Sitting one day in my garden, my gaze was drawn to the washing line swaying in the breeze with a full load of sheets. I find it a beautiful sight when travelling to see washing lines laden with clothes blowing briskly in the breeze. So on this afternoon the following poem was created from my inspired vision.
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Washing Line
It sits there still throughout the night,
a morning bird descends from flight.
Perched upon its swinging frame,
every day is quite the same.
A washing load it bears to dry,
in full boom beneath the sky.
Waving in the bright sunshine
the breeze sets the beat and time .
When at last its job is done,
back to resting in the sun.
Another night of rest ahead
For tomorrow's weary spread.
It sits there still throughout the night,
a morning bird descends from flight.
Perched upon its swinging frame,
every day is quite the same.
A washing load it bears to dry,
in full boom beneath the sky.
Waving in the bright sunshine
the breeze sets the beat and time .
When at last its job is done,
back to resting in the sun.
Another night of rest ahead
For tomorrow's weary spread.
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