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.”

Posted by:A'Isha Adams

Mind of a frantic poet. Ambition of an entrepreneur. The heart of an old soul.