created with Pumpkin
Oh, men of steel
You melt like butter upon
A pan on fire
But the boys of wood,
They're reduced to ashes when burned
Thus making them burn no more
-and the melted steel forms a puddle
-in which a young girl's porcelain doll lies
-oh, it weeps, it feels scorn
-and the dust rises up--up into the air
-flicks of them on raggedy ann's yarn-curled hair
-but it feels no anguish, no despair...
july 21 2k
from a slip of paper
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