Each small thing plays a part
maybe sleeping in the corner
a speck of leaf come in with breeze
unchanged for hours and kept safe
by wall's corner and a large green vase
Could a sneeze be born from such
unnoticed piece of tree traipsed in by boot
tromped on flower petal smooched
then crushed within the pattern of an oriental rug
the color of old roses mixed with dust
So many small patterns fill a life
some touching and forever changing
what they touch like a knife gone dull
sitting in a drawer where water leaked
turning silver handle to tarnished piece
Perhaps there is no bigger answer
only little pieces that one puts together
not even a plot to move the story along
like melody to song can change or rearrange
and sometimes one small thing like a child's toy
was lost just to be found again
so it could ignite forgotten joy
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