The Dust

The Dust

NATHALIA CRANE

Crumbling a pyramid, humbling a rose,
The dust has its reasons wherever it goes.
Treating the sword blade the same as the staff,
Turning the chariot wheel into chaff.

Toppling a pillar and nudging a wall.
Building a sand pile to counter each fall.

Yielding to nothing, not even the rose,
The dust has its reasons wherever it goes.