You there,
you with your folder in your hands,
you
with your toolbox.
You there,
you who think you don’t matter.
You are the butterfly whose wings flutter and
cause winds to blow and rain to fall.
You are the sunshine to someone.
You are the apple falling on Newton’s head my friend.
The wind that flows from you
blows
harder than you could ever
imagine.
You are not
just one domino that knocks over another in a long endless chain.
You are
a voice in the wilderness,
a ripple in the stream,
a wave in the ocean my friend.
You are a single purple flower growing
alone in a forest,
a ray of sunlight.
You are a poem,
A poem that matters to someone,
a factor in someone’s life.
You
matter.