I sit on your keyboard whenever you type, then stare at you with judgement as if that’s my right.

I fill golden fields with baskets piled high, gathering what the earth grew beneath the sky.

I have no lips, yet I drink my fill, I hold rich dark earth while standing still. I nurture a bloom and keep roots secure, Made of clay, glass, or plastic to endure.

I fill barns with bounty and wagons with grain, gathering summer’s riches before winter’s reign.

I have no hands yet I can hold I have no mouth yet I can drink I wait beside the water And take in more than you might think I become heavy when I am full Yet lighter when my burden leaves I hide countless little spaces Where drops of water choose to sleep I help to clean what others leave Then give it back when I am pressed I may be soft within your hands But after work I need my rest I can live beside the sink Or travel with the tide One of my kind cleans up your home Another lives beneath the wide What am I