I can’t resist the urge,
My blood begins to surge,
When I trace the creased veins of an uncrumpled brown paper bag.
A certain sound escapes,
While unfolding balled up shapes.
When treasured trash is taken from untarnished refuse pails.
Fold in half, this way.
Time to squirrel away,
When future needs; necessitate its specific use.
A tasty sandwich lunch.
Books of matches, a whole bunch.
When seeking appropriate wares to place inside its space.
What’s more? You’ll have great fun.
When its specific use is done.
And you crumple that uncrumpled bag back up, to throw away.
We're all on a road to somewhere.
O zi minunată!
Island boy, city life.