You are a crunchy,chestnut leaf
being trampled on by hordes of tiny feet
during the autumn months.
You are a juicy strawberry
sat in the middle of a farmers field
dangelling from a stalk and waiting to be picked.
You are a picture collecting dust
on a mantelpiece
waiting for your glum,downhearted life to end.
You are a book
one of a million in a filthy bookcase
waiting to finally fill somebody’s head full of images.