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.