Your Basket

You hardly used your basket. 
You preferred to stretch out on
your big zebra print cushion
or on a rug.

There you would soon be dreaming,
of chasing squirrels, rabbits,
or, with your sister, rushing
for balls I threw.

Or you’d lie on your blanket
which was draped over your chair,
and you’d sleep peacefully there,
all nice and snug.

Abandoned, without a doubt,
I could never bring myself
to throw your old basket out.
That much was true.

I just could never get rid
of it. It stood in your run
for you to use in the sun.
You never did.

But since you have gone away
I’ve used it another way
I’ve planted seeds and made
a flower bed.

So later when the plants grow
I’ll remember you and know
that you live on where you are
up high afar.