Shirts

by

Frank S Rickards

You wash my shirts
With care
Rubbing the collars,
Rubbing the cuffs,
Rinse
And peg them on the line
To be unfurled
And filled with the flying wind.

And then,
With care,
You gather and iron
And gently fold
And lay them on my bed
Like flowers...

So with love, my love, thet are washed,
And with love, my love, they are worn.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Lovers from History
by: Joyce Hemsley
from: Sunderland, England, UK

To visit all of Frank S Rickards's poems, click HERE

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