Dishes, dishes, dirty dishes
Must I always do the dishes?
'Yes you must, ' said Mother dear.
'For Bobby's helping Daddy
And there's no one else I fear
Who can do the dirty dishes
And I want to make this clear
That no grumbling I should hear.'
So I did those dirty dishes.
There was an endless pile
Of pots and pans and plates and bowls
And cups of every style.
I labored in the kitchen
And Bobby all the while
Was playing with his best friend Lyle.
I finally finished all the dishes
But much to my despair
Was sent upstairs to clean my room
And wash the baby's hair
And then I had to go to bed.
You see, it isn't fair.
I do all the work and the others don't care.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem