Listen to poem:
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.
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