I'm here to praise the humble broom
Which cleans the floor in every room
The sturdy broom which you can trust
To move around dead dirt, dire dust
To leave the foor and shelves quite clean
To make your home gleaming, pristine
To make the old place look like new
It seems to know just what to do
It does the job, thorough, and yet
Why does it suffer such neglect?
With handles carved to lure the quick
That parasol displays its paint
Each broom grows dirty, pale and faint
Finally, bristles twisted, thin
It's thrown aside, beside the bin
The broom removes dead spiders' webs
It finds odd shoes under the beds
Under sofas, roll tins of drink
Last night's party? We nod and wink
Let's carve each broom's handle, paint it
Give it honour, give it glory
Each battered broom keeps us healthy
Knows our secrets, tells no story.
-ends-
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