I am a lowly throw rug that
is lying on your floor.
You often wipe your feet on me,
you think that’s what I’m for.
I am a full-length mirror down
the hallway by the shelf.
You look only at my surface
for reflections of yourself.
You cover me with garbage, I'm
the bottom of your sink.
I am at your disposal--
or so you seem to think.
Like the electric blanket that
you use while counting sheep,
you turn me on to warm you up
and then go right to sleep.
I am the picture window where
you watch the falling rain.
To you I am transparent, you
will never see my pane.
But, I'm a rusty wind chime that
you cannot just ignore,
when you knock me from my pedestal,
I'll tinkle on your floor.
And I'm a winter snow storm that
has covered up your lawn,
and like those fragile snowflakes, by
the springtime I’ll be gone.
