Sonnet #97

Measure a life, and count up the cleaning

How many days do we spend at the scrub?

The wealthy may pay for another for preening

the rest of us wash our own toilets and tubs

Obituaries rarely capture the days

They describe the moments of highest glory

The peaks achieved, the children who pray

We only measure successes, that's our story

Quotidian things, the dishes, the mop

Mowing the grass, and wiping the table

We measure the garden by flowers and crops

But there is the slow growth towards being able

Measure one perfect forgettable day, uninspired

We worked, there was music, then we were tired.