Friday, November 29, 2019
A dreary drudge and myopic topic;
A dead awful bore and a chalky chore,
Yet, it’s full of life submicroscopic.
Flecks that cling to clothes, tiny, arenose;
I see them riding on bright shafts of light --
I brush from my nose, breathe them, I suppose,
So cleaning is a never-ending fight.
Once sure that this soup, full of microbe poop,
Sports bacteria and their viral kin;
I had to regroup when I got the scoop:
That my home dust is mostly cast-off skin.
I’ll never be free of dusting, you see:
The tiny particles are mostly me.
When closing up the house for Winter, one becomes more aware of the motes in the air.
Posted by Mick at 2:16 PM