Photonix #3: Photopoetry

And when the streets cleaners came,
On a cold, bright spring morning,
They drove in circles and circles.
Cleaning the street seems so odd to me.
To wash the earth, to strip dirtiness from dirt itself,
Is like trying to wash a river, or blow away the wind.

But round and round they drove, cleaning as they went,
Their brushes going in circles of circles.
And when they finished,
Can you imagine that,
The road shone,
Like a street of gold.