She comes in the night
To fold & hang clothes,
And pair up your discarded shoes.
Sleeves rolled back tight
On solid knees bent,
She scrubs off the skids when you've pooed.
And When you've been sick,
There's beads on your brow
And your tongue's the hue of old spinach,
It's she who will rub,
Hug, kiss and soothe -
She don't mind that your breath smells of cabbage.
Even when you're grown
The fairy's still there,
You wonder who bothered to launder.
But you'll know she's been round
'cos your cups will be clean
And your books alphabetically ordered.