Small spirits
In the leaves
Excited as children
On christmas eve.
Why stay,
Why not leave?
This broken earth
Where people grieve?
_________________
This poem is actually based on a superstition. When I was young, I pointed out a pile of leaves that where swept off the ground twirling in the shapes of little tornados. My aunt looked at me and whispered,
“Hush child, spirits are passing by.”
Seeds Before Water 