as the cold, wet snow.
As the wind I must blow this leaf
to places even brief, I’d travel.
Don't walk on me; I'm not gravel.

Don’t cover me
as an orange peel,
holding me in my juice.
I must let loose.
And rip through the sky
as a long-necked goose.

Don’t cover me
in layers of blubber.
I’ll bounce back
I'm round rubber.
I won't wade in the muck.
Not again ladened down
and moonstruck.