I was a bird
set to fly.
A butterfly
spreading its wings.
A house plant
ready to grow.
Who knows
Where I was heading.
I was a flower,
again.
I was a tree
ready to give shade.
I was a book
prepared to be read.
I was a child
ready to grow.
I was a building
strong and safe
saved
crown molding
around windows
and doors.
You wanted more.
Now, I am but a pen writing.