
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