My wife is perfect as you can see;

An upturned nose, very pretty.

She cooks, she cleans, she rings my bell,

But it’s her drawers that I love so well.

My wife’s drawers are a sight to behold,

A tale to you that must be told,

Of things so secret and forbidden,

The contents of which are usually hidden.

My wife’s drawers are like a menagerie

Of playing cards and gold jewelry;

Gum and matches are way down deep,

Buried under a Scotch tape heap.

Thin little cookbooks are shoved to the back,

With baseball cards once used to keep track.

There's pictures of family and friends together,

Along with Halloween masks, and a feather.

Bills and pills and lottery winners

Can be found with silverware for dinner.

The garlic press sits upon dinner recipes

Next to the Ace bandages for your knees.

The secret’s out and now you know,

The hidden things found down below

The fifty-cent coupons and packing tape,

The rubber bands and hooks for drapes.

The counter and the cabinets, I fear,

Never harbor trinkets as dear

As the drawers my wife stuffs every day.

It’s her love for her family she tucks away.