The Beauty Of Literature Poem by Denis Martindale

I rarely do the household chores,
The gardening and the like,
I hide away behind closed doors,
As if I've gorn on strike!
I'll read a book quite quietly
And never say a word,
So that no-one on Earth finds me,
Until the time preferred...

I've rarely washed a cup or plate,
A knife or fork or spoon,
That's why the house stays in a state
Until the afternoon...
I'm lost from chapter one, page one,
A world unto myself,
Until another story's done
And placed back on the shelf...

While poetry's my secret love,
I need my books, for sure,
From normal life to rise above,
To skive off evermore...
They've not caught on to my first scam,
'It's research! ' I respond...
And though I'm guilty of this sham,
I'd rather read James Bond!

The classics occupy some time,
Charles Dickens wrote a lot!
And though his stories are sublime,
Sometimes I lose the plot!
Romances aren't ideal to read,
The scam can't reach that far,
And War and Peace I'll never need,
Such heavy books I bar...

One day, of course, they'll realise,
I'm lazy, through and through,
Then out the door my research flies,
With housework forced to do!
From all housework I'm staying clear...
No other scams to form...
Until found out, I'm staying here!
In my bed, nice and warm...


Denis Martindale, copyright, October 2013.