The wind swooshed in and the

dandelions did cartwheels 

across the yard, while laundry 

snapped to attention

on the line dancing just 

outside the back door.

The rain drops were the size 

of quarters as they slapped

the sheets, then the towels, and 

she ran to bring them 

in, to salvage at least

part of her day’s work.

We sat in our little 

chairs, singing and rocking

while she whacked on the screen door, 

arms filled with dry sheets turning 

wet, she begged, but we did

not unlock the door.

And we sang:

Bringing in the sheets, 

bringing in the sheets,

we shall come rejoicing

bringing in the sheets.