People and towels, much the same,
They hang around, more for show,
The hand-towel has more play in its game,
There's almost nowhere it won't work or go.
Life of an Hand Towel
By Arley Steinhour 121612
So many different kinds of towel,
Beach, Bath, Tea, and Hand,
The one I think most versa-towel,
The 'Hand,' is the most grand.
Beach towel, just gets dirty,
Protecting, more the ocean sand,
Bath towel dries fresh clean body,
And hangs on wall, looking bland.
Hand towels, often decorate,
The bar, beside the sink,
Eyeballs have a close-up fate,
Gentile pressure dries your wink.
Each day it dries, four times or more,
Where Bath towel, once, if that,
Some-times, even dries the floor,
Kid splashing, like a brat.
Time goes by, and towel gets thin,
Its looks no longer pass the test,
Retired to the house scrubbing bin,
Where, at times, a mouse will make a nest.
Scrub the walls, and counter-tops,
Keep toilet clean as it can be,
All kind of projects, that never stops,
Trash can ready, it will see.
But, wait, reprieve, there's one more thing,
The mop-head has scrubbed it last,
Rags, and towel, now on floor take wing,
Scrub away muddy tracks, real fast.
The wear and tear, destructive,
The weave does soon let go,
What honor for service productive,
Retired to the trash-can, formality, 'no.'
In trash, towel shards turn musty,
The pretty color has faded away.
Never more, by the sink, a 'must-see,'
Hand-towel, just died, today.