A tiny treasure.
Not a prism or a gem,
But an inexpensive piece of plastic
With a cartoon hero/villian
whom I don't even know.
In all the yard.
In all the rubbish.
I picked him out.
And his amber light glowed
against the countertop,
In the morning sun.
Are we loved because we are beautiful?
Or are we beautiful because we are loved?
A question that was asked of me,
We are beautiful.
We are sometimes found.
We are loved if we are recognized.
We are loved if we are treasured.
If thrown away, or not found...
Still beautiful, just hidden.
~Glow in dirt and glow in rinse water~