The Exemplar of Good

Too much, too much,
Of a sunny stroke,
It’s too long,
And such.
The lines of yellow smoke,
Were once young,
Prettily different.
Had not been sung.

Now bedraggled with rain and soot,
The lines are too long,
Leave the good,
Just good.
Too late, too late,
The brightness of light,
Buried ‘neath its own weight,
Is gone.

Too hot, too hot,
Vacant sand lots,
Screens planted in shapes,
With squares of rubber stops.
It’s wrong to go on and on,
Despoil a perfectly good sand lot,
Stop with good,
Just good.