Saturday, July 5, 2014

Iced Over

And useless is the air conditioner.
Sweat rolls down my brow
Before I even turn it off to thaw.
Maybe with time off it will return
To its cooling purpose and save
Our mutual dripping.

Both of us are guilty of running
So consistently despite limitations
That we cause ourselves to fail,
The call to cooling turned to a freezing up.

Here is found a miracle, that by purposed pauses
We never come to emergency. To stop
And rest is not sloth, it is Sabbath.

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