Poems The hard-won privileges of the dead Dead men's tales The clothes never get clean Title belt St. Sophronia's cathedral Or cough up smoke into a handkerchief Now that she's been high enough up to see Paris The clothes never get clean Washerwoman, washerwoman, don't look down. Isn't that an alligator? I'm afraid I'll drown. "O gentle maiden with the yellow dress and hair, the water is a crystal ball, I read my fortune there." Washerwoman, washerwoman, how deep is the water? "It's not measured in feet, but years, my igenuous daughter." Washerwoman, washerwoman, guess what I see: the water is a moat and I am the queen. When I prop my feet up I am sitting on a throne, and when I'm on my feet it's to dance the Toblerone! Washerwoman, washerwoman, what do you see? "Bracelets on my wrists and the Pope on his knee. "Washbasins are hidden away like spinning wheels. If I prick my finger with water, I turn ill." Washerwoman, washerwoman, what do you wear? "An evening gown of clouds and a slip of the air." Washerwoman, washerwoman, give me the slip! My sweetheart's going to war in a big, iron ship.   Home | Email