When we were small
we stood up in the sink
to wash ourselves
or before a roaring fire
all laughter & lather
being washed by big sis
in a tin bath of bubbly water
every Friday
in front of the range
the bliss
of it
to be washed with love
& dried in tenderness.
It was worth
the effort
getting dirty
to ensure our mother
would shriek:
'Just look at the state
of you! '
And before she could shout:
'Get those filthy clothes off! '
(it was amazing
what a game of football
would do
to a guy's sense of cleanliness)
you'd be
naked in the tub
waiting for
the first jug
of hotwater
poured over you.
Oh there was the pleasure
of getting dirty!
But oh there was the pleasure
of getting clean!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
All well and good for the summer time....but OH! those cold winter Fridays...when you bathed whether you needed it or not... But I do remember that cheery red cheeked stove, and the rosy glow it gave out....and being clean and wrapped in a big warm towel Mama heated just for me...bliss! ! Thank you My Dearest Friend, for this memory~~I loved it!