by John Drinkwater
What is all this washing about,
Every day, week in, week out?
From getting up till going to bed,
I’m tired of hearing the same thing said.
Whether I’m dirty of whether I’m not,
Whether the water is cold or hot,
Whether I like or whether I don’t
Whether I will or whether I won’t–
“Have you washed your hands,
And washed your face?”
I seem to live in the washing-place.
Whenever I go for a walk or ride,
As soon as I put my nose inside
The door again, there’s some one there
With a sponge and soap, and a lot they care
If I have something better to do,
“Now wash your face and your fingers too.”
Before a meal is ever begun,
And after ever a meal is done,
It’s time to turn on the waterspout.
Please, what is all this washing about?