used to turn the mangle handle
Squeezing water from the wash
A weekly duty, a ritual preformed
The fresh smell of carbolic soap
Drained from the cast off clothes
Water splashing around my feet
From newly washed clean sheets
Then like bunting hanging neatly
The summer clothes line was full
All sorts of colours, hung to dry
In a warm summers gentle breeze
Sometimes, a call all hands on deck
Panic as it began to pour down rain
We would all rush out to gather in
A spoilt harvest, now wet and soggy
So back to the mangle turning again
Squeezing out that summer rain
Back to the clothes line to dry again
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem