No, Mom, I can't clean my room today.

You see,

My room is more tham a room.

The books on my floor,

(that you despise so)

are Blowing Leaves.

Endlessly changing positions.

The dust that unfailingly gathers is Soil.

Constantly growing new things.

That stack of shoeboxes?

It's a Tree, tipping in the wind.

My bed isn't made, because it is really the Sky,

clouds drifting aimlessly by.

My scattered earrings are Fallen Fruit,

Waiting to be picked up and enjoyed.

The desk is cluttered.

That's OK.

It's just the Mud that I draw in.

The candy wrappers are Flowers,

beautiful and fragrant

(though eventually the smell spoils).

My un-put-away clothes are Chipmunks,

Appearing

just before

they Disappear again.

So, you see, Mom,

I can't clean my room today.

Because my room is Mother Nature,

And it just can't be put away.