Watching the Dust

Watching the dust dance in the sunlight,
With no where to go but down
Yet that does not seem to bother it
For it effortlessly floats, twists, and swings
As it falls to the ground,
With joy and glee some make the descent,
While others sink with peace and tranquility,
Happy to be transfixed in mid-air.
One thing is for certain concerning these little specs of dust,
Not a one complains about how it is lifting and falling
Because nothing depends on them,
For who knew the breeze would come,
From that direction or so swift.
No one boasts about how it floats;
They didn't determine it, O no; the wind did.
The dust waits with eager expectation for the wind to blow.
For dust, is only dust,
It can do nothing unless the wind blows.
I know a man that felt the same way,
He said something along the lines of:
I can do nothing apart from the Father.