A toymaker grown old
Moiled away, day by day.
Kept a self up on a shelf
Because he was perfection.
People came to give him sums
Then went away with a prize he devised
None as splendid as The One.
One day the manikin spat out his dust
And spoke: Unjust!
There will never be one fine as me
I've seen you labor every hour
Since birth, unplanned, made by your hand
You kept me for show, a quid pro quo
But you could do it only once.
Thousands pay and go away
With my form, deformed.
Lanky; squat; beautiful or full of knots.
But not me. Never me.