The Stay-Ashores

The sheets hung out on the roof to dry

Billow and flap to the morning sky

As if they thought that they might be

The sails of little ships at sea.

Atop the walls of stone and brick,

With chimneypots all round them thick,

They tug and stretch at their lines and strain

Till someone carries them down again.

Poor old sheets, it's hard on you,

Never to sail the windy blue!