Tissue Box Poem by Abhishek Bhovar

The tissue box was a funny little chap,
He was stocky and boxed but would never argue or flap.
He sat quietly at his desk and courteously waited,
Ready to help if someone's hands were dirty or their nose was inflated.

Like all those before him, around him and after,
Like happiness, like life, like childhood, like laughter,
He knows his existence is fleeting and brief,
His departure won't fill people with any loss or grief.

It doesn't bother him or hurt him to know this anymore,
So he continues to give tissues as a service, not a chore.
As he empties and empties, his life starts to thin,
Tomorrow he'll leave the desk and be in the bin.