Softly Sunday

Softly runs the mouse Across the sun baked tarmac Sparrows nestle in the shade Of droopy maple leaves A single engine drones overhead A grill rekindles faded scents Black smoke to cleanse its palate Distant voices ride the wind Collide in the trees A slightly tattered flag Smiles in the sunshine Two bees dispute Nectar’s runway An unheard hum envelops The quiet street Nature’s choir warming up John G. Lawless ©5/21/2023