The wind picks up grains of sand,
Lets them dance
For a while
And idly watches them fall
To the ground
While greys and dank blues
Flow in the sky.
The sand watches too.
She keeps her shoulder to the wheel
And toils on
Through the unrest
Little regard for those lying, discarded, in her wake
As if they were ants.
The ants toil on too.
None who try
Can stop the Juggernaut.
But if they looked away
Would it choke, shrivel and die?