I sit looking sad,
Why should I be glad?
Spring is out there,
But I cannot share.

The bed is unmade,
Clothes left to fade.
The birds sing a tune,
But I clean my room.

Pull back the curtain,
I’ll be done, I’m certain.
The flowers are blooming
And I’m back to fuming

Why does this cleaning take so long?
Why does everything seem to do wrong?
The Spring outside,
Will peacefully reside.