As her broom never ceases
Swinging from moon to sun
And dusk to dawn
The brightness of painted memory
Dulled behind her brushing stroke
As all in sanctity and sadness
Causes no pause
In her presence of sweeping motion
Joy may gather in with joy
As we hum with her
On days blessed
She hums and she sways
The timeless time sweeper
As swept strokes pass all things
And all else
mF
(C) MarkFlood2015
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