Artful fingers I feel,

moving around,

with gentle sound,

shaping into my appeal.


Sharp eye for each detail,

specially those defining ones,

since every crease that comes,

leaves behind a rugged trail.


No flaws permitted

like the geometry dictates,

and as the final shapes awaits,

each crimp is outwitted.


Thus, I come to be

Within your hands I become,

Merely one last fold with your thumb

To make, ultimately, me.


Dwelling in the drawer is no more,

for I am no longer a flat paper,

since you turned me into something greater,

through time, patience and your fingers sore.


Of my character I am unaware,

but with your sight reflection,

I perceive what you see is perfection,

Then you lay me down to fix your hair.


Later as you fix one last pleat,

You frame me so that I am preserved,

Then hang me where I am gratefully displayed,

for I cannot ever return to a simple paper sheet.


Rose design: Huang Zheng-Ming

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