The Moribund Marionette

Just a limp and frazzled toy,

Wondering what he’s destroyed:

This one crouches at the helm

Of this long-forgotten realm.

Buttoned eyes—they catch the thread;

They magnify his daunted head.

The grayish cloth that is his skin

Like a shroud envelops him.

One might spot a faded smile,

But no more does this beguile.

A bunch of cloth, a doll of rags,

He wilts down and his body sags.

Personify this wretched thing!

Believe the way his heart did ring,

And how he leaks these vitreous tears,

And how, into his grief, he peers.

The children’s specters near his head

He wishes would wrap him in bed,

And stroke his long-forgotten cheek,

And in sweet voices come to speak.

This is another day, alas:

A puppet’s problems do not pass.