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.”
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