When I was a babe I wanted a milk maid
As a child I played and dreamed of a mermaid
In youth I prayed wishing for a young maid
Without the maid love was hand made
Grown and married work to evade, I paid for a maid
Now old, back swayed, I just want my bed made
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: June 13th, 2025 03:18
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 262
- Users favorite of this poem: Doggerel Dave, Soman Ragavan, Cheeky Missy, Tristan Robert Lange, Lorenz, Reta
Offline)
Comments16
Hahaha, we are up at the same time Soren!
Not sure what time it is where you are but for me i got up at 5:00
Never mind I got up at 3am
great poem of desires and wisdom with age!
Thanks so much Demar for the read and the kind words of encouragement they are appreciated
Life’s journey told in maids and dreams so true—
from milk to love to rest, each phase shines through.
Thank you Mottakeenur for your review and kind words of support the mean a great deal to me.
This was clever and fun.Made me smile.Wonderful word play on maid and made.Excellent
Thank you David for the read and kind words of support they are always appreciated and welcome
Nice one Soren
Nice and Witty
Thanks Reynaldo for the read and comment it is always most appreciated
Enjoyed the play on the word made/maid. Nice poem that encompasses the full span of life- fantastic
Thank you Nafisa I appreciate your read and kind words of encouragement
always welcome
have a beautiful and productive weekend
Brilliant
Thanks Tobani for the read and most generous word of encouragement it is appreciated
You are very welcome
Paid - made my day, Soren. Recognition with laughter kept me awake through what should have been my afternoon nap....👍
Faved
Thanks Dave Glad you liked it I always appreciate your reads and comments
Well done, SB. In NY, it is 6, and I make my bed when I get up. At least one thing was done successfully today.
Thanks so much Jerry a bed maid is a task staid I always sayed. Have a great day.
The ageing process is a most striking thing. When you compare someone's pictures in old age and in young age, you would never believe the transformation, the wreckage that age creates. The wrinkles come from nowhere, the skin sags.... It has been said that after 50 everything heads south. All things start sagging about us. Perhaps there is a cold logic for the ageing process. Generations have to succeed each other, to make room for new ones. This ensures the survival of the race.
Indeed it does Soman and it is true as the hair grows white or falls out and the belly sags there is a message there that now all is pointing to the ground as if to say I belong there. Thank you for your most kind and understanding review it is always most welcome
Love the Monoryhme scheme and word play. So true. Great poem, my friend. 🌹👏
Thank you Trostan for your read and for the kind comment it is always most appreciated.
You are most welcome, my friend. This was a fave for sure! Just read it again!
Great write
Thank you Tony for the read and comment it is appreciated
You're welcome
Hello soren,
Hand made love, a very subtle way of putting it, and as for 'back swaying' along in old age, aptly observed and rendered forth with doddering panache - excellent! Even the thought of making a bed is a labour in itself. A delightful verse of humour to carry me through the day. Thank you very much for sharing this one.
From one self 'maid' man to another,
Tony.
Thank you Tony your read and comments mean a great deal and are most appreciated
Good write SB.
Thank you so much Orchi
Gently mad ! a fav !
Thanks Lorenz I appreciate it
Fine words of passed experiences soren.
Andy
Thank you Andy for the read and and words of encouragement. As always they are valued
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