There are times I refuse to wash myself as if I would have the dirt and sweat of that day stay until tomorrow, for each day goes by in dirt and sweat, washed off each evening, with not much thought of what it is I wash off, another day of my life. I should pray with each washing, for I am letting go down the drain a part of me I must miss forever -- bit by bit until I wash my life away, for all I really have to show is this dirt and sweat I cling to as my only evidence of having lived, my one accomplishment and pride. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LONDON'S SUMMER MORNING by MARY DARBY ROBINSON OUR MASTER by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER MY SOLITUDE by JAMES R. AGGELES THE IRISH MOTHER'S LAMENT by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER LITTLE JOHN AND THE RED FRIAR; A LAY OF SHERWOOD by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN TWO PATHS by ANNE MILLAY BREMER |