They gather things. Together, separately.
Bits. Pieces. All very important.
Often a precious rock (broken asphalt), or a note (on scrap paper).
Sometimes a rainbow (piece of string), or a piece of gold (yellow button).
Now and then, a valuable coin (found in the dust behind the washer)
But always love. Right there on my bedside table.
My little hunters and gatherers going throughout the day,
Leaving me gifts to discover later.
They rest these treasures where they will be safe.
I will take care of them, in my heart.
They are small, the givers and their things.
After all, string can fit in your pocket; a note will fold in your palm.
But truly these gifts cannot fit on my bedside table.
They fill the room, fill my life.
And spill into others.
Here, have a button.