The order of disorder
Of all the effects that lays low this man,
Is the intrusion of a wives cleaning plan.
Although disorder is the rule of my lay,
There is order in the turmoil of my way.
Each heap to me a specific pile of stuff,
Though it looks like the acme of scruff.
It is to my mind, filed in my order.
But to hers, it's the height of disorder.
I cannot put a lock on some of my goal,
For she has free access to all of my soul.
But my garden blooms flowers in sensitive soil.
Not to be transplanted by cleanings foil.
So now precious time is lost you see,
To put back disorder, makes sense to me.
And I am saddened and she is remiss,
But I'm sure it will all clear with a kiss.
When I was young t'was my personal hell.
But now the bells toll the sound of, Oh Well.