What is dust? Is it something I know? Is it a thing or an it or a no?
How do I get it? Where is it found?
Why do we have it and where is it bound?
Take it away it do creeps me out, put it, hide it, don’t leave it about.
Take it with you when you leave, don’t bring it back, I have plenty, I won’t ever lack
Lol. Every time we clean it keeps coming back … Dust. I understand. Enjoyed your poem.
amusing turn of mind.