Carpet

I’m meant to beautify, adorn

But am trampled upon, often torn

By use and abuse, I’m weary and worn

My wretched fate, I often mourn!

       I’m slightly better-off than the door-mat

       But am still wary of that little brat

       Who spills things on me, gives me a stink

       Then I’m spread on the parapet, often over the brink!

Though I don’t need a tan, I need the sun

Definitely, after everyone has had their fun!

Sweeping their dirt under my belly

And leaving me fuming and smelly!

       Sometimes, a vacuum-cleaner tortures me

       But its essential for a cleaner, newer ME! 

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The copyright of this poem is with Mrs. Priya Ramesh Swaminathan.