I'm taking my time with chores still to do;
I don't like to rush them at all.
I'm painting the kitchen a delicate hue,
And driving my wife up the wall!
She says that it should be finished by now.
I tell her you can't rush these things.
She looks unimpressed, with deep furrowed brow,
While outside a nightingale sings.
She says, "That reminds me, the garden's a mess!
I thought you were sorting that out!"
I say, "I'll do that tomorrow, I guess.
There's no need for you to shout!"
She'll be her old self in a few days' time;
These chores will be finished by then.
Meanwhile, here I am at the scene of my crime,
With the sun going down once again!
Copyright © Robert Haigh 2017