James J. Metcalfe

Dust

It settles on the furniture... The mantel and the floor...
The pictures and the windows and... On every wall and door
...It gathers at the ceiling where... The spider web is spun
... And everywhere it finds its share... Of glory in the sun...
And that is why the world must have... Its mops and rags and
brooms... And hands are busy at their task... Of renovating
rooms... But whether it surrounds a hat... Or covers shiny
shoes... It must at last be recognized...And given all its dues
... for we are nothing more than that... However much we
learn... And to its flimsy form some day... Our bodies must return.

James J. Metcalfe

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