There is an elephant sitting on my windowsill
Trunk poised toward the rising sun
Its stance, ready for movement
yet frozen in place.
Pride emanating from the recycled paper that shapes it
Strength breathing in and out of its material lungs

How simple, how easy, how apathetic
Yet how intricate, how detailed, how steadfast

Its empty eyes have seen rain and snow
Storm and still
Its ears lacking the parts to hear the whispers and shouts
But ready anyways, waiting for the bits of noise to trickle through
The elephant on my windowsill
So peaceful and so calm
From a lifeless shell, it bursts with vitality.