Trash to Treasure

 
This poem waits
like the unused bookcase
the DVD tower
the mantle clock without its key
Silent in a window
with the once expensive electric fire
three bags of topsoil
(may have some weeds)
the rusty bike with two flat tyres
crusty saddle and a buckled wheel
The poem waits
to be claimed and cherished anew
its paving stones relaid
mortar scraped away
to breathe in second life
and fill the head
of other dreamers like me
while I read them gifting
even more poems
perhaps they no longer need
helping rescue from mindfill
a ton of thoughts--
our freecycled words
for whoever cares to see