Grown from a sapling into an
   Awkward young thing
  Nibbling on fingertips, clumsy
  And tripping over shoelaces tied
  Not so carefully

   I tried to write you a poem
  Rolled the words over my tongue,
Put them inside packages tied
With little blue bows but
They never made it onto paper

So I stare at blank pages
Digging for inspiration underneath
The onion layers of this lifetime
Searching for something
Lost along the way

Slipped from my pocket and
Fell to the ground with
No sound at all as the
Floor of the forest folded my secrets
Underneath her leaves