Factitious Perfection

Too much, too much
of a sunny stroke,
It’s too long,
Wasteful nimiety,
Flying crests of colored smoke,
Once young, and
charmingly different,
Now, dulled by too much.
Too late, too late,
Bedraggled with rain and rock,
The lines are too wide,
Leave the good,
Just leave the good.
The lucent light,
Sullied by the weight of it,
Is gone.
Too hot, too hot,
Vacant sand lots with
diamond screens and scattered
squares of rubber stops,
Wrong to go on,
Despoiling a perfectly good sand lot,
Stop with good,
Just stop with good.