I found a pair of knickers on the chair
They must be mine,oh dear, that is bizarre
I did not take them off,I am quite sure
They make the entire room seem quite impure
Yet why are knickers thought to be like porn
When they adorn the place where life is born?
If you hung the washing out to dry
You might see an angel in the sky
Most of us traversed the holy path
We suffered pain but hope it did not last
Mothers too have struggled and endured
The labour and the hurt that life will cure
The simplest items, pretty, well designed
Tomorrow I shall hang them on the line
How my heart sings 