Endurance

A scrap of tissue paper, soft and dry,
is blown across the empty square and twists
before the breeze as if in mortal pain.

There is no one about. The scorching sky
is one deep hood of heat; the sun has fists
and hits the reckless with her hot disdain –

there's just this piece of paper whirling by,
and wind to blow it anywhere it lists,
the only thing the heat may not restrain.