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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=343027" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>To My Laundress</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=343027" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Saponacea, wert thou not so fair<br>I'd curse thee for thy multitude of sins<br>For sending home my clothes all full of pins<br>A shirt occasionally that's a snare<br>And a delusion, got, the Lord knows where,<br>The Lord knows why-a sock whose outs and ins<br>None know, nor where it ends nor where begins,<br>And fewer cuffs than ought to be my share.<br>But when I mark thy lilies how they grow,<br>And the red roses of thy ripening charms,<br>I bless the lovelight in thy dark eyes dreaming.<br>I'll never pay thee, but I'd gladly go<br>Into the magic circle of thine arms,<br>Supple and fragrant from repeated steaming.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Ambrose+Bierce">Ambrose Bierce</a></strong></div>

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