An Ode To Our Hanging Laundry
Like the colorful banners of knights of old
Surrounded by their heralds and mesnie bold,
Our laundry doth wave on the clothes hanging lines
As if it too is meant for heraldic signs.
The socks are displayed like pennoncelle.
All our intimate secrets playful to tell.
Our underwear are our prideful banderole
As if we are knights-errant out on patrol.
Our banner of arms are our shirts hanging free.
They declare our wealthlessness for all to see.
The pants are hung as our heraldic standard.
In them we are wont to go a wee dandered.
Without our clothes hung for all to gaily see
How are we to know who it is that we be?
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