It's six AM. Get Up! Get Up!

There is work to be done!

We can not let this house run amuck!

Get Up! Get Up!

Her voice echoes through the halls;

Soundling like the Drill Sergeant's call.

Grumbling I rise from my bed,

still with dreams dancing in my head.

With fumbling hands and tired eyes;

I laugh at the new maid who tries

to open a locked door

off to the side.

Descending into the basement, I trip once or twice

as I scramble to avoid the squeeking mice.

From behind me I hear a small scream

as someone is awakened from their daydreams.

At last I arrive in the Laundary room.

(A space that has never seen a broom...)

The linens are resting in a bin,

waiting for work to begin again.

Soon the room steam,

as the water leaves the faucets in a boiling stream.

All day long the sheets are cleaned.

Crisp and white; they all look pristine.

Then they are hung to dry,

creating a maze, a perfect place to spy.

However our maze is placed into the wall.

All this is done before the sun falls.

Then it is time to iron the sheets,

a task none of us wishes to meet.

I lift the heavy block of iron

heated by the warmth of the fire.

With arms of Steel

We press the sheets, for that's part of the deal.

We do this day after day

since the Vanderbilts give us more pay.

Now as the moon begins to rise

In their beds the Vanderbilt's lie.

As we make our way up the stairs,

up away from the basement liar.

To the third floor I go,

where there isn't a "yes" or "no."

It's where I shall rest my head,

until the sergeant's call sounds once again.