Sprucing Up


The garden was stocked with fallen leaves,

Gathering them up was a task in a fleece,

There was an uninterrupted fall from trees,

Leaves came down slowly after a gentle breeze.

 

Green and yellow leaves  lay scattered without a cease,

Twigs small and big landed down in the crease,

They made the garden look like a messy freeze,

Inadvertently it seemed an entertainment set to please.

 

Cleaning up was a target beyond reach,

Finding a team was a difficult breach,

The work had to be done with a screech,

As there was no time to impeach.

 

Like the dry leaves thoughts crowd

The mind quivers in a desperate shroud,

Sprucing it up seems to be a task loud,

Resuming equanimity is like a falling cloud. 

 

The imbalance strikes hard mercilessly,

Reviewing it generates apprehension enormously,

 Yet gardens could be swept and cleaned spotlessly,

 But the mind  withholds the trials though not erroneously. 

 

 

 

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