Gust Of Glory Poem by Ima Ryma

Gust Of Glory



It is a nice, bright, sunny day.
I am enjoying a long stroll.
A gust of wind appears to play
With loose things that can swirl and roll.
Around me dead leaves flap and fly,
Paper pieces sputter and spin,
Performing on a stage of sky.
An eager plastic bag joins in.
Caught up, I stand and watch the show,
A blended whirl of sight and sound.
The maestro wind ceases to blow,
And bag etal. come back to ground.

For moments each discarded thing
Is given grace to dance and sing.

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