The Poetry Corner

Dry Leaves

Look at all the leaves in my garage!
Blown here by a persistent northwest wind,
They swirl in little eddies when I open the door,
As if rushing about to find a hiding place,
Unsure of where to go.

Broom in hand, I push them to the door,
To freedom!
Crossing the threshold, they catch the breeze,
And scurry away like so many little animals suddenly released from captivity,
To find their way in the snowy landscape outside.

With each sweep, I urge them on,
But strangely, they do not wish to go.
Carried ecstatically by the wind at first, they hesitate then turn back.
They rustle in tiny waves under my car, cowering from the cold,
And my broom.

How much like my thoughts are these dry leaves.
They gather in profusion, and then flutter in confusion,
When I try to bring them to order.
I push them out, to clear a space for You,
But they come fluttering back.

Refusing to be swept away.