You dismiss my bare feet as mere whimsy,
a pleasure for which you've no time,
though what pleasure you found in their soft, supple skin
when truer treasures were not so confined.
You've just summoned the clerk from your office
for a deadline, an editor's call
yet you've time to stop talking and watch me
as I empty my pockets in the hall.
As you stand here before me in earnest
and I, before you, sadder still,
to have measured the dose of disdain from your eyes
to have swallowed dismissal's hard pill.
You're staring, quite curious, at treasures
found all through my stroll on the grounds,
the bits and the baubles of nature's intrigue
smooth stones, velvet leaves that I've found.
To yourself you propose you don't know me.
To my eyes your expression bares truth,
and I wonder how someone can manage to walk
with empty pockets so laden with proof.