Crumbs
Crumbs on the table, crumbs on the floor
And behind the door,
Crumbs on my clothes and even sometimes up my nose.
It's a mystery to me why,
No matter what I chose to eat, crumbs end up close by.
Yet my wife never leaves a one.
I can't give up my toast,
Not even for the one I love the most,
So I smother it with jam to keep the crumbs together.
Too many showers and I block the drains,
If I leave the vacuuming for long I blow the mains.
And that is not dandruff in my hair.
If there is a way to make me crumb free,
I don't mind paying a fee,
As I would like sometimes to eat breakfast in bed.
Copyright © David Smith | Year Posted 2016
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