In Praise of Washing Dishes

With hands immersed in suds and water warm, I stand before the sink, humbled vassal, To plates and dishes, grease and grime the norm, My task to cleanse this polychromed passel. Each cup I cradle with a gentle pinch, Their curves and corners, every angle blessed, Rinse them speckless, my soapy palm a winch, A chore completed, my service at rest. For though this labor at face is mundane, It's in the simple things we find our grace, And so I wash each dish with grateful strain, And let their gleaming surfaces erase The chaos and the clutter of the day, A small but satisfying task, I say.