It looks like you're new here. If you want to get involved, click one of these buttons!
There is wind where the rose was,
Cold rain where sweet grass was,
And clouds like sheep
Stream o'er the steep
Grey skies where the lark was.
Nought warm where your hand was,
Nought gold where your hair was,
But phantom, forlorn,
Beneath the thorn,
Your ghost where your face was.
Cold wind where your voice was,
Tears, tears where my heart was,
And ever with me,
Child, ever with me,
Silence where hope was.
November by Walter de la Mare
What is the bane of your existence? Or do you love cleaning and domestic chores? Are you houseproud or a bit of a slob (like me)? Are you meticulously tidy or have piles of things lurking in the corners and things a little bit out of place?
What chores do you really hate and which do you like?