Drifting Leaves
-Patrick KavanaghWe drift and we care not whither, Why should we care? For You are at the end of all journeys By vision or prayer. Blow us O Wind, O blow us Whither you will. Every leaf that November casts clay-ward Shall its own place fill.
Copyright © Estate of Katherine Kavanagh
Think of this poem when you are sweeping up leaves, makes it a more bearable task -:)
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