The buttons I collect
Are a lot like people.
Some are crazy, some are boring,
Some are old, some are new,
Some I care about, some I don't.
Some are me, some are you.
Some are serious, some are funny,
Some are yellow, some are plum,
Some I got in different towns,
I know where they're all from.
But like people, my buttons are,
In a way to put it; used.
Some are rusted
Some are broken
Some are dented
Some are bruised.
Yet I try to keep them close to me
As close as they should stick
For some of them have hurt me
With an unexpected needle prick.










