Dust Saga

A speck of dust, a gritty granule, a mote of dirt, A flake, a particle, a granule, a tiny remnant of what used to be. A hotchpotch rabble assortment littering every nook and cranny, Everywhere is dusty, dowdy, and dusky dusted. Dust floats, flies on the wind, scatters about, makes a mess. Always there needing to be swept up, brushed aside and cleaned away. All matter is rendered asunder to dust in destiny's fate. Each skerrick of dust a tiny full stop, At the end to its saga of life and decay. Stop a while and peer at your dust Before you throw it away. To wonder and marvel at such a diverse array of remnants Of entropy personified in such disorder. And to wonder where each speck, mote and morsel of dust came from.