Classic Poem

Down in our cellar on a Monday and a Tuesday,
You should hear the slapping and the rubbing and the muttering,
You should see the bubbles and the steaming and the splashing.
The dark clothes dripping and the white clothes fluttering,
Where old Ellen Sullivan,
Cross Ellen Sullivan,
Kind Ellen Sullivan,
Is washing and ironing, and ironing and washing.

Like a gnarled old root, like a bulb, brown and busy,
With earth and air and water angrily tussling,
Hissing at the flatirons, getting hot and huffy,
Then up to the sunlight with the baskets bustling,
Comes old Ellen Sullivan,
Cross Ellen Sullivan,
Kind Ellen Sullivan,
The clothes like blossoms, all sweet and fresh and fluffy.