This one's by my son Michael (age 15)
Taking Out Trash on a Rainy Morning
Whose chore this is I think I know.
While she sleeps in, I have to go;
She will not see or smell this reek,
nor watch the puddles quickly grow.
The little birds don't find it bleak,
Safe in their nests without a peak
Between the leaves that sag and seep,
The darkest morning of the week.
I slowly step to rid this heap,
Wondering why I'm not asleep.
The only other sound's the beat
of steady rain in puddles deep.
I think of coffee, warm and sweet,
But I have chores I must complete,
And trash to haul before I eat,
And trash to haul before I eat.
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