Trash her own house

It's not her own make - well,
most of it ain't. Yet choosing-to,
she'll sniff no sniff,
curl no lip, sift
a swath to a path, not

for order's vain sake.

Just to find and recall
where what she won't need
goes best, perchance to go,
get: take.

Come up trumps in the test!

Trash mnemonic at best, for
the classiest girl ever classified,
girl. Oh, woman no kidding - va
-voom and such. This trash
helps her sort and order

too much.

It's for blood, or for love, she
naturally plants feet and knees
in these rooms finding memories
- quite often not even hers!
- but spurred like wild flying steeds
to history's herd.

It's by love, money, sure, plus fate's funny
hand - she’s here. She'll arise:

"order up!"

And resume her stand.

Which is all her own.

For goodness: sake.

This trash wasn't hers,
but it is now, mate.