Raking My Soul Poem by RoseAnn V. Shawiak

Covering my mind with many leaves of nature that fell onto the floor of my soul.
Raking it gently, giving attention to every detail as it shines itself in pine-scented particles, giving off scents that will end the sour smelling odors left over from daylight hours.
Stretching each aspect to limits of boundaries, never going beyond tell-tale hints of supply and demand of inner potential.
Sitting on occasional benches, off to the sides, people pretending they no longer need anyone's help.