The quiet dust lies, settled in the cushions, <br />On the armrests, in the corners of rooms- <br />Dust which takes a bit of us, when it goes. <br /> <br />Dust containing particles of other selves <br />Of other times, from a past ages ago, <br />Of people and lives now nobody knows. <br /> <br />Dust has a long memory, but cannot talk <br />Of who and what, and where it's been; <br />Dust has a long reach, but cannot walk- <br />Except it cling, to movements of men. <br /> <br />Oh dust, will you speak of me when I'm gone- <br />Lean traces of me on the roads I've left, <br />For quietly I'll lie then- and make no moan- <br />As quietly, dust will slowly drift..<br /><br />Patti Masterman<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-quiet-dust-lies/
