A Laundry Sonnet

Our recent adventure to Les Miserables (which was the most incredible show I've seen!) and my never-ending battle with laundry-for-8 combined in my head this morning.  The following should be sung in your head, or in the shower, to the tune of "Castle on a Cloud".  Please pardon if this is slightly sacrilege to anyone.

There is a laundromat on a cloud.

I like to go there in my dreams.

Washers there don't shake, rock, aren't loud.

Not in my laundromat on a cloud.

There is a place socks don't get lost.

There is a place where nothing fades.

Shrinking and staining aren't allowed.

Not in my Laundromat on a cloud.

There is no static, lint or dust,

You can get out blood, grease and rust

The rags don't sour and the towels smell clean,

and there's, never, a need for ironing!

I dream of whites that are bright white.

I dream of bath towels that smell fresh.

I dream the clothes all fold themselves,

Up in my laundromat on a cloud.