There is dust
all over the world,
sings the little girl.
She is brushing snow
away from the ice
at the edge
of the mostly frozen river.
Her song goes on:
And somewhere else
there is someone else
who is dusting.
And she sings and sings
and sweeps away
the white dusting
until beneath her
purple gloves
the frozen world
shines.
Love that ending, the shine. I can see it. I’m also glad you stayed out of it — the poem — but for your presence in the title and of course, as speaker of the poem.