Page 50 - Poetry-Whimsy

The Trials of a Broom

Sweep, sweep, old broom,
Whisking about from room to room,
Why are you looking so glum today ?
What is the matter with you, I pray?
Why not singing in broomlike glee
Your song of sweeping melody?
Sweep, sweep, heigho,
Hereabout, thereabout, round I go.
If I could to you a broom’s feelings express,
I know you would weep at my tale of distress,
For I can assure you my troubles are real;
You cannot imagine how anxious I feel,
For I just heard to-day that my mistress had said,
“Let that old broom be thrown out in the shed.”

So now I’ll proceed my story to tell,
As I know you’re my friend and would wish me well.
For two years and more that same mistress I’ve served,
And from duty’s strict line have never once swerved;
Yet now, when I’m weary, and feel growing old,
I’m told I’m no use, and put out in the cold.

“A new broom sweeps clean” is often expressed,
But the deep hidden corners the old one knows best,
From parlor to kitchen, in closet and hall.
Upstairs and downstairs, e’en up on the wall
I’ve been sent to chase spiders and break down their web,
And now I’m condemned to die in a shed.

But I’ll comfort myself that even out there
I can be of some use, and free from all care,
I shall often do service, instead of a toy,
Perhaps act as a horse for a frolicsome boy;
When for that I’m too old they will cut off my head,
And I’ll serve as a wash-stick even after I’m dead.

So I’ll cheerfully work, as becomes a good broom,
Repining no more because of my doom,
But (between you and me) I tell you ‘tis true,

~ 48 ~