Cuts on my fingers,
Aches in my joints.
No not a fight,
Spring cleaning’s the point.
Pull out clothes worn,
In the Spring and Summer.
Exchange them with,
Winter ones that are warmer.
Donate the good things,
That fit no more.
Stick to and complete,
This seasonal chore.
Then sweep and rake,
The rocks and sand.
Start to feel,
Blisters on my hands.
Make a pile,
Burn the brush.
Fire will go out,
Before the coming dusk.
Wake up and see,
Sunrise across the land.
As the plantings peek through,
New life they demand.