We are all Dust waiting for the touch of the Featherduster.
For life sweeps the lucky ones gently into Dustpan purgatory,
While the unlucky are sucked through the hell of the Dustbuster.
Life finally places us with all the other Dust in the Dustbin.
Some finer Dust escapes into the Sacred Gardens,
To paradise where weary allergic angels tread
Under Dusty Halos, tethered and tame as camels.
Most sneeze once with a Bless You, Brother,
Some curse in silence, smiling holy smiles of eternal penitence.
The Master Gardener uses all the Dust in this Desert,
Watering each soulful dune with her tears -
She prays for another flower worth saving from the mud.
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