Here you will find the Poem On An Ill-Managed House of poet Jonathan Swift
LET me thy properties explain: A rotten cabin dropping rain: Chimneys, with scorn rejecting smoke; Stools, tables, chairs, and bedsteads broke. Here elements have lost their uses, Air ripens not, nor earth produces: In vain we make poor Sheelah toil, Fire will not roast, nor water boil. Through all the valleys, hills, and plains, The Goddess Want, in triumph reigns: And her chief officers of state, Sloth, Dirt, and Theft, around her wait.
