All the pieces are in the box, 

Just wanting to fit together to make a whole

None mismatched in the box

No gaping holes where one is missing

The corners are found

The edges begin to be complete

Slowly, slowly the picture fits and comes alive in front of you

The piece is picked

A promise to fit in

It isn't the last, left on the side-line

Awaiting to be picked by the team. 

The hand slights the piece

Twists and turns the edges, trying hard to fit into the gap

In frustration its thrown back in to the lid

It isn't the piece to fit, it isn't the right shade

Discarded and hopes to find its place within the jigsaw soon fade

by A Golding