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I see a woman, probably a nurse washing a white sheet.
I made me feel nostalgic as I remembered how mu Mum do take us to the stream to wash our clothes. We were always happy to ho to the stream.
When I was a little troublesome kid,
Hopping, jumping, popping dirt.
I go round the street running wild,
And when I get to a heap of sand,
O! What lovely bed! I will scream.
Diving belly first like a plunging croc,
I lay on my cozy soil,
For I have no worries in me,
Save a dirt mound to play.
When the sun closes up for the day,
And human follow in its stride,
I run back home to the nurse,
Dear old Mrs Maggie!
Who watches over the orphanage.
Oh! What troublesome child is this?
Who rolls on dirt like a bin sack?
Alfred! Am done washing your clothes!
She will scream.
Neither water nor soap will they feel,
You will go about naked,
Maybe the jest and taunts from your mates,
Will strengthen cleanliness in you!
But hardly will those words leave her sweet mouth,
Before the echoes vanish in empty space,
She will strip me off my soiled clothes,
And off she goes to the laundry pool.
With clothes and sheets and socks.
God bless thy old nanny!
Dear old Mrs Maggie.