As an infant my sis and I would share

We would moan and grumble whilst washing our hair

The soap would always sting my eyes

As she slyly splashed, caught me by surprise

A little older it was often a time for mum

To read me a story whilst I sucked on my thumb

I would grumble when the time arrived to get dry

As mum combed my hair I would start to cry


When the tomboy stage hit I hated it more

Being clean I thought was such a bore

I would moan that I should be out with my friend

But always felt better when clean in the end


As a teen I would lock myself away for hours

Gone were the days of rushed cold showers

I would pluck and prune and make myself pretty

Hoping to be noticed by a boy I found witty


In my 20’s I would start to share it with him

Sometimes when he lay there I’d cheekily jump in

Sometimes still alone when I got the chance

But often the scene for the spark of romance


As a woman it became my haven away

To wash off the dirt of a stressful day

The trusty friend who cleaned me through time

Always helped me to relax and clear my mind


Middle age and it was firmly set in routine

Marked in my diary as time to get clean

If he jokingly tried to climb in while I bathed

I would splash him away as I ranted and raved


Getting older the nurse would lift me in

Gently rubbing the soap over wrinkled skin

I would sometimes tear thinking of earlier times

When into the bath on my own I could climb

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