The Button

Lies on the soft grass
Waiting to be marveled at
By the appreciative, the curious.

Perhaps it flew off
While the tourist with
Bright brown eyes, and
Ebullient tousled ribbons,
Ran to catch the morning
Train.

Or possibly it peacefully fell
Off the old man walking around
Central park, the one who is lonely
Because all his children have left

Maybe even off a small child's
Knitted sweater. A child who climbed
The old, scarred, tree. No care
In the world about what happened to his
Clothes.

Alone and forgotten, lies
The button.
Torn off, peacefully fallen, flown.
Orphaned.