The Flower Garden Within

I thought I was made of grey,

Like a garbage can made of tin,

Where people threw trash their away,

A receptacle for secrets and sin.

Using me when one would require,

To discard their unwanted things,

Or purging their lunch, or starting a fire,

I take what everyone brings.

I thought my colours had been erased,

Just a filthy yet practical tool,

Smudged with the colours of others’ waste,

Accepting this world can be cruel.

But maybe someday my grey will turn green,

And the flower garden within me will be seen.