Here lies a poor woman who always was tired,
for she lived in a house where help wasn’t hired.
Her last words on earth were: "Dear friends, I am going
Where washing ain't done, nor sweeping, nor sewing,
And everything there will be just to my wishes;
For where they don't eat, there's no washing of dishes.
I’ll be where loud anthems will always be ringing,
But having no voice, I’ll get clear of the singing.
Don't mourn for me now; don't mourn for me never,
For I'm going to do nothing for ever and ever.
This poem is in the public domain.
I saved this years ago although the version I saved is slightly different. Sadly though, I can't relax with the mess around me; I was a filing clerk in my youth and need everything to be neat and tidy and labelled and in it's right place. If I can't achieve that it scrambles my brain and I shut it out. My drawers and cupboards are immaculate but the bits you can see are a complete clutterfest. And instead of doing fun things like reading books with the time I spend not cleaning and tidying I just procrastinate on the internet [or sleep]. Which is what I'm doing now...