Dan asks to dry the dishes,
at least six times a year,
and so his mother lets him,
despite apparent fear.
With care he stands there drying;
the dear boy will not stop,
and then it finally happens —
some dishes he will drop.
“I’m sorry,” he will stammer.
“How it happened, I can’t guess.
I want to help with dishes,
and not just cause you stress.”
His mom replies, “You play now.
You are too young to dry.
Don’t worry, Son, it’s all right now —
at least you want to try.”
And so the boy then plays outside,
upon the grass so green.
His little plan has worked for years,
for now he is thirteen.