oh i've learned to hate this bow
the present said to me one night
it's come to only bring me woe
despite -- nay, for! -- its pretty sight.
the child who toddles up to me
expecting shallow fun will pick
my shining bow with jubilee
and joy with judging me so quick.
would i had been encased in brine!
would i had been in battered trunk!
would i had carried my own sign!
would untrue notions I debunk?
alas, here i sit within the hands
of one whose eyes so swiftly judge
and all my carefully laid plans
laid bare for one i do begrudge.
or should i blame my end to this
unsightly piece of ribbon twist
for spurning those who would see through
the rosy-colored, pinky hue?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment