Dirt

You fight all your life
Against dirt and dust,
That blows through the cracks
And makes cleaning a must.
It gets tracked in the door
Sometimes dry or wet,
If you stood in defense
No reward would you get.
Kids and pets bring it in
On the bottoms of their feet,
And so you stand guard with a broom
To keep your house neat.
Then you get old
And try to live with grace,
Then when you're buried
They throw it in your face.

by Barbara Jackson McGuire

Other poems of BARBARA JACKSON MCGUIRE (2)

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