Washing Machine Amour Poem by Stephen Harris

What wakes me from my beauty sleep
Such a cacophony of noise
It makes it hard on this Lords day
For a lady to keep her poise

Could it be an old steam train
A spectre that chugs overdue
Transparent as they shovel coal
Ghosts tinged with an orange hue

Or maybe it's the beating drum
A celebratory feast
That lasts for days now fasting's done
A tradition from the East

But no, I know its overhead
Vibrations shake heavens floor
It is my neighbours washing machine
She'll be sat atop, Amour