Monkey Chores

Sweeping floor is one of my favourite things

Sound of swishing of bristles on embedded rings

The sunshine in windows and sun lit halls

That make dust in air seem like fairy dust balls

The cheery sound voices of children outside

The good thing or maybe not so, when nursery's in sight

Then again - at least it's some sort of "action"

That lets me dwindle in thoughts for a fraction

Some owners decide to move houses

Such graceful, classy ladies in ironed blouses

Swaying their hair as they walk

Seems like the type who never talk

Have to say that these halls sometimes seem lonely

Like pause in between piano waltz folly

And when it's raining it turns grey inside

That's when I start dusting laps, that reside

Each day the halls echo whispers

That come from stairs where smoke makes blisters

The common area for gents or ladies with cigarettes

Who share the stories of many joys and regrets

I love the moments of late at night into early morning

Some couples or friends enjoy drinks in mourning

When they sometimes remember the legends of these halls

Of fallen victims to dreadful kill calls

I love sweeping floor in these hallways

There's many things that a human says

And endless things stay behind closed doors

One of those are post mortem my monkey chores