I heard little whispers
from the lips of the wallflower
and the way that they sounded
was a little bit like home,
yet the sound as it traveled
bounced between my four walls
and the way that I felt it
was a little bit unknown.
Take my hands gentle dancer
speak your mind into mine,
the time has come for you at last
to cross, not toe, the line.
The floor is yours gentle dancer
to speak or move as you will,
and even if you’re off the wall
you are a flower still.
It was not that you had nothing to say
nor that your dancing was poor,
but rather you feared the sound of your voice
and the way your feet felt on the floor.
I saw gentle movements
from the dance of the wallflower
and the sway of the movement
was a little bit unknown,
yet the motions I witnessed
by the flower off the wall
made me realize and whisper,
“You are every bit of home.”
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