Dust Poem by Frank Halliwell

A friend wrote a lament to dust.
She swore and fumed and long discussed
A publicly proclaimed decree
That dust was her sworn enemy!

But dust we know, has long withstood
Endless attacks by womanhood,
And warded off from dusk to dawn
Their sprays and rags and feathered wands.

It merely moves from place to place
Drifting around with easy grace,
Till once again it gently drops
To shelf and desk and tabletop

And settles down scorned and eschewed,
There to remain until pursued
Again in unavailing chase
Around the house from place to place.

But in the end, they suffer pains:
Sore backs and arms: -the dust remains,
For dust is an eternal thing
Always benign, not menacing!

As husbands know, the dust exists
For writing notes and grocery lists,
For jotting down phone numbers too!
- A handy kind of residue!

For one may write on dust with ease,
And save the paper, and those trees!
...A notepad that is heaven-sent
For guarding the environment!
o0o