Concerning Sweepers

Again this week, the City Council chose the windiest day to scatter sand on St. Kilda road, and the sweepers, human and mechanical, were out in force.

The other day I walked abroad,
   While fierce winds howled and leapt;
And lo! I came upon a man
   Who swept, and swept, and swept.

Along the street he swept the dust —
   Stray refuse. But, alack!
Each time a broom-full forth he thrust,
   The mad winds swept it back.

And still he swept, tho’ naught he gleaned —
   A patient man was he.
To me his wild endeavor seemed
   But sheer futility.

“Good fellow,” I exclaimed, “why sweep,
   And sweep, and sweep again,
While teasing gales that howl and leap
   Make all your sweeping vain?”

The surly fellow answered, “Keep
   Your block! What’s that to you?
I sweep because I have to sweep;
   The Council pays me to.”

Just then a gust caught up his heap,
   And sent it swirling high.
“See that! What profits it to sweep
   On such a day?” said I.

“Your task is hopeless, man!” I cried.
   I argued, pleaded, wept!
But he, poor fellow, turned aside
   And swept,
      And swept,
         And swept.