Open Me
I am the little yellow butterfly
flying through the meadow,
across the sun-kissed flowers,
trying to find her home.
I am the brown recluse spider,
hiding away in an old shoe
in a dark closet,
away from the world.
I am the autumn leave,
caught on a stone,
watching the other leaves
float down the babbling brook.
I am the tiny star,
flickering alone
amongst a million others,
comforted only by the cloak of night.
I am the musty book
with pages unturned,
waiting for someone
to open me.
