Of Chances
In the corner of the room
Where walls and ceiling meet,
I saw an old and dusty broom
Whose faith had long been beat.
Uphanded I the broom at once,
(I lifted it with care)
I knew it had been many months
Since this broom swept in air.
The light shone in. The corner lit,
I put the broom away.
It smiled at me; I closed the door.
The broom had lived today.