With broom, I do sweep, oh, the pain!
As I mutter and curse in disdain,
The mop and the bucket in tow,
I felt like a chore-driven foe.
And now it is starting to rain.

With broom in my grip, oh, what dread,
I’d rather be in my cozy bed.
I weep and I sweep,
As I tumble and creep,
These chores have me seeing red!

With rake and spade, I dig deep,
My resolve, despite thorns, not to weep
For chores, weigh me down like lead,
Fills my heart with nothing but dread.
When I would much rather be asleep.

With rake and spade, I persist,
In this never-ending chore list.
I toil and I sweat,
With each step, I fret,
Oh, how I wish these chores could desist!

Indoors and out, I do groan,
In a cleaning marathon of my own,
Tackling dust, dirt, and grime,
running out of precious time.
For these chores, I’m just not in the zone.

Mop and bucket, my constant companions,
I tackle messes in all their fashions.
With a sigh and a moan,
I clean and I groan,
Dreaming of more enjoyable passions.

With a sigh, oh, so deep and low,
I wished for a chore-escaping flow,
But I persevered through the mess,
every crevice and corner in distress.
The dust webs continue to grow.

I clean every nook and cranny,
Even outdoors, where the chores are uncanny.
Indoors and out I do roam,
Turning my house into a clean home,
it feels like a never-ending journey!

Alas through all the grumbling in my brain
I reclaim my home with some pain,
Though chores can be a tiresome fight,
A clean house sure does feel right!
And tomorrow I will do it again.