Tuesday, May 24, 2011

The Curse

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.

1 comment:

Jean said...

Once is better than never.