A Morning in Suburbia

Morning breaks with a gentle hum,
The suburbs wake as daylight comes.
Birdsong mingles with the morning breeze,
A tranquil start beneath the trees.

Sunrise paints the sky in gold,
A new day’s story to be told.
The house, in slumber, slowly stirs,
As light through curtains softly blurs.

Coffee brews, its rich aroma fills,
A promise of the day's warm thrills.
But before leisure takes its hold,
Chores await, as they are told.

In pajamas, with sleepy eyes,
The family begins to rise.
First, the breakfast must be made,
Pancakes stack on plates displayed.

The table set with care and grace,
For morning’s feast in a cozy space.
Orange juice poured, and butter spread,
Around the table, words are said.

Dishes cleared and counters wiped,
The morning meal, a task that’s swiped.
Children scatter, chores in mind,
Each to their duties, neatly assigned.

The eldest grabs the vacuum's hum,
In rhythmic strokes, the rugs succumb.
Dust and crumbs, they disappear,
Leaving carpets fresh and clear.

The youngest with a feathered duster,
Tackles shelves with gentle luster.
Books and trinkets, all set right,
Surfaces gleam in morning light.

Outdoors, the father takes his place,
With mower ready, he sets the pace.
The lawn, a field of green and dew,
Trimmed with care, to look anew.

Hedges clipped and edges neat,
Paths swept clean, a suburban feat.
Gardens weeded, flowers pruned,
Nature’s beauty finely tuned.

The mother with a list in hand,
Moves through the house, her tasks well planned.
Laundry loads are sorted, spun,
Whites and colors, chores begun.

The washing machine begins its song,
A rhythmic hum that won’t take long.
Soap and water, clothes reborn,
Fresh and clean, for a new morn.

Windows call for a streak-free shine,
She sprays and wipes, making them divine.
Clear panes reveal the world outside,
A polished view, with nothing to hide.

Midday sun climbs high above,
The family pauses from work they love.
Lunch prepared, a simple fare,
In the backyard, they breathe fresh air.

Sandwiches and lemonade,
A picnic in the garden's shade.
Laughter mingles with the breeze,
Moments like these put hearts at ease.

Afternoon brings its own set of tasks,
No time for rest or idle bask.
Bathrooms need a scrub and sweep,
Tiles and tubs, secrets they keep.

Father dons his gloves and gear,
To tackle grime without a fear.
Bleach and brushes, scrubs and sprays,
Tiles gleam in the afternoon rays.

Children’s rooms, a scattered mess,
Toys and clothes in disarray confess.
With bins and boxes, order restored,
Floors once cluttered, now adored.

The kitchen, heart of the home’s domain,
Demands a thorough, thoughtful reign.
Oven cleaned and pantry neat,
Ingredients stored, a chore complete.

Dusting done and floors now mopped,
The suburban home, its chores well-topped.
A sense of pride in every nook,
From attic’s peak to basement’s crook.

As evening nears, the family slows,
Their tasks complete, their faces glow.
Dinner simmers on the stove,
A hearty meal, their efforts drove.

Around the table, they gather near,
Sharing stories, smiles sincere.
Chores may mark the day’s routine,
But in their bonds, a joy unseen.

The sky now dark, stars softly blink,
Dishes washed, put in the sink.
The family rests with hearts content,
Another Saturday, wisely spent.

In cozy beds, they lay their heads,
Dreams of chores and gardens spread.
For in these tasks, life’s rhythm beats,
A suburban symphony, oh so sweet.

Night descends with a peaceful grace,
Quiet falls upon the place.
The house, now still, in moonlight’s glow,
Whispers thanks for the care they show.

Suburban life, with chores so grand,
A dance of love, hand in hand.
In every sweep and every clean,
A simple life, a treasured dream.