Beneath the
lowly wash-house shelf - But why a
horse ? I often
think; It doesn't eat! it doesn't drrink
! It has no
tail, it has no head, Only a
wooden rail instead
!
But sometimes on a
washing-day Our clothes-horse really does look
gay; A goodly, well-appointed
steed, Really to
gallop off at need; With trappings billowing
around And fringes sweeping to the
ground.
At times like these I think it
looks Like horses out of
story-books; And if I saw it move to
go I wouldn't
dare to whisper "Whoa !" And if it
chose to disappear It wouldn't seem so very queer.
. . .
But so far
it has simply stood A common clothes-horse made of
wood.