Small spirits

In the leaves

Excited as children

On christmas eve.

 

Why stay,

Why not leave?

This broken earth

Where people grieve?

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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.”