Well I am too LATE to submit for the prompt. But, here is my Quatrain, 12 line poem.
I roll across the floor without a command,
I catch what drifts, accept what lands.
I move when pushed, I stay when still,
I gather weight without a will.
I spin through corners, rest in light,
I shrink and grow without delight.
No thought informs the shape I take,
I simply am, for movements sake.
I settle under tables, drift near walls,
I answer neither reason nor calls.
I exist without start or end,
I am a thing, alone, unpenned.
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