Pollen

The porch is piled with pollen,
Transported by the breeze
And though I'm not allergic,
It's enough to make me sneeze.

It's powdered on the table
And it's dusted on the floor.
As the vacuum bag gets fatter,
Soon there is no room for more.

It's a constant losing battle
'Cause we clean up every trace
But when we wake up tomorrow,
There'll be more to take its place.