My Screen Door

My screen door has a little rust,
It is old and sags in the middle you see,
The sage in the middle little like me,
It keeps out the bugs but not the dust.

The balmy breezes of August
Droplets of sweat form on my ice tea
As in the parlor we chatter with glee,
Enjoying the breezes with the occasional gust.

The meadowlark's evening song
Reminds us of simple pleasure
That God has blessed us without measure
And he stands with us and keeps us strong.

The leave outside rustle in the evening air
While we inside are without a care.

Copyright © 2021 Wayne Becker

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