An Ode to Cleaning

Oh cleaning.  How do I loathe thee?  Let me count the ways.
I loathe thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when smelling Clorox bleach
for the purpose of creating a clean toilet bowl.
I loathe thee to the level of everyday's
second dishwasher load, by sun-light and candle-light.
I loathe thee freely, as another boy's dirty socks again miss the laundry basket.
I loathe thee freely, as those same boys are turned from my praise.
I loathe thee with a passion put to use
when I find myself, again, flushing doo-dee after somebody forgot.
I loathe thee with loathing I never seem to lose.
NEVER!  I say--I loathe thee with my breath,
frowns, tears, all my life--and, if God choose,

I shall but loathe thee right 'til my death.

With sincerest apologies to Elizabeth Barrett Browning and any of her descendants, on this cleaning day, October twelfth, year of our LORD, two thousand and eleven.