Fortune flies on wings of wrens
gliding over glass on summer mornings.
Flowers beckon to bees, and hornets
hover around the eaves of homes.
Every curve in chrome catches light,
while women and men mop the sweat
from crying children who holler to be
hosed down with a ceaseless stream
of water before sheltering in shade.
Mosquitoes stay in shadows
searching for putrid puddles from
damaging downpours, a menace to
maples and birches bordering
homes in the humble neighborhood
where fortune flies on wings of wrens.