The Puppet



This poem was written from a dream I once had.

In a dark and lonely corner

Sat a body made of wood.

Lifeless and cold

Not doing any good. People laughed and scoffed at him

Cos he was no work of art.

But every harmless laugh

Tore away at his wooden heart.

Needing to be needed

He sat all alone.

Never knowing love

Or having a real home.

The jokes they say never got to him

Not once did he cry

Always with a painted smile

And a twinkle in his eye.


But time passed

And the puppet grew old.

And that twinkle in his eye

Was never quite so bold. 

And people came

And people went

Always in their rush..

Never taking notice

That the puppet turned to dust.

(1983. Revised 2016)


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