Chamber of Maiden Thought

I made my son’s bed
but he has unmade it.
I laid the white table
but he has unlaid it.
I ironed his trousers
but no-one would know it.
I tidied his papers —
there’s nothing to show it.
I made his whole self
from my excellent neatness
As I am unmade by his
untidy sweetness.

Helena Nelson

If you've any comments on this poem, Helena Nelson would be pleased to hear from you.