My Littleness

I am a musical note in a guitar Waiting for the touch of dexterous hands I am a chrysalis under a paling leaf Waiting to be turned into a butterfly I am raw ore in the far depths of the mine Waiting to be extracted and purified I am a smoldering piece of coal in the hearth Waiting to be blown into a flame I am a rough stone under the Earth’s crust Waiting to be hewed into a diamond I am an antique piece long buried in the soil Waiting excavation to become a treasured exhibit I am a piece of canvas fixed on the easel Waiting for the touch of an artist How I long to transcend my rawness Into something better and refined But can I do anything wholly myself Never, everything depends on others will too I discern I am only a flickering shadow That has existence only if there is light!