Stuff

Stuff

In drawers and corners, hidden neat,
The bits we call our little “stuff” –
A jumble‑sock, a faded sheet,
A toy that’s lost its grin enough.

It gathers dust upon the shelf,
A memento of a summer’s day,
A ticket stub, a cracked‑cracked shell,
A laugh that’s slipped away.

We pile it high, we sort it thin,
We whisper, “Maybe one day I’ll need…”,
Yet often it’s the things we bin
That hold the quietest of deeds.

So let the clutter softly sigh,
A tapestry of what we are—
Not gold nor glitter, pure or shy,
Just honest, humble, everyday stuff.