SCRAPS

i take a little molecule
and pull upon its legs
it stretches into living form
till it sits up an begs

and just what is it begging for ?
it's begging to be read
for if a poem's not visited
it might as well be dead

i take a little concept
and it slowly branches out
the leaves begin to blossom
till in color they will shout

i take a little seedling
and i water it with words
till it becomes a sanctuary
for poem loving birds

a poem is made of scraps
just pieced together till it's built
and if it's done correctly
i have sewn myself a quilt

and if you like the pattern
and appreciate the style
then you're allowed to climb beneath
and snuggle for a while

i take a bit of dough
and then i stretch out all the folds
i shape things in my mind
like little cookie cutter molds

i'll pass a plate of cookies
every one a different taste
the scraps tossed back into the bowl
so nothing goes to waste

i have so many fish
that seem to swim inside my dome
when one swims through my fingers
then i've wrote myself a poem

sometimes the fish swims swiftly
other times without a clue
you think this poem is fishy ?
that's entirely up to you

i think i'll go to bed now
i enjoy my little naps
my brain will never rest though
it just keeps collecting scraps