You are a derelict bed,

crumpled on the floor.

You are a football wishing to be kicked,

waiting to make a goal .

You are a blue wooden park bench,

waiting to be sat on.

You are a freezing cold snow flake falling from the sky,

like a leaf falling from autumn tree.

You are a frosted  puddle of ice ,

waiting to  be skated on.

You are a tree crashing side to side,

through the storm.

You are a full stop at the end of a poem .