I have been away, But now I am returned. A book with pages added, Before the loan ended, And stamped once more, At the library.
I am the laundry, Stained and soiled, And then thrown with love, Into the iron drum, To become fresh once more. But weller worn than before. With creases that can't quite be smoothed.
The humble disk slotted into place. I was played and enjoyed, Span round and round, With wonderful sound, And then carefully extracted from the magic, So as not to be scratched.
I am home. The doors and windows, Locked and reopened, Aired once again. The dust disturbed and swept, Cobwebs blown away. Like a garden refreshed - I blossom.