A caterpillar in its cocoon,

the rising of the morning sun,

the white glow of a crescent moon,

a pink and orange sunset,

the bud of a hybrid tea rose,

an unfinished song.

a song unsung,

a really good show that goes unwatched,

the first snowflake to fall in the winter,

a couch made into a bed,

the glass half full.

Potential.

You are the potential of all the things I know to be beautiful.

A gift still in its wrapping.

By Asia Batchelor