You are not marble,
or wood,
or clay
waiting to be sculpted, cut and shaped.
It is not for me
to take away or add to you,
to make of you what I will.
Instead, I will wait
and watch
as you slowly unfold,
revealing yourself to me.
You are a garden –
some flowers in full bloom,
some seeds still hidden
beneath the soil,
awaiting the first warmth of Spring.